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DREAMS; 



OR, 



LESSONS FROM THE POPPY FIELDS. 






.v'i-^^pir^u., J 



I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, 
At the Sophist Schools and the learned clan ; 
For what are they all, in their high conceit, 
When man in the bush with God may meet?" 

— Emerson. 



" To die, to sleep ; 
To sleep; perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come." 



9^ fl^ 



New York : 

The Alliance Publishing Company, 

"Life" Building. 

igoi, 



M 



L-ibreiry of Cocmresa 

Two CcM^s WrcEnrEo 

FEB 4 1901 
SECoMoconr 



s 



Copyright, 1901. 

by 
The Author. 






]^6 



ROONEY & OTTEN PRINTING CO. , 11 4-1 20 WEST 30th ST. , N. Y. 



DEDICATION. 



To those dear friends giz'e)i by the All-JVise 
to brighten by tlieir presence the pathivay of a fel- 
low pilgrim, then by His xvisdoin promoted to the 
higher life, where they shine as stars in the spiritual 
sky of that yet lingering pilgrim, this book is affec- 
tionately inscribed. 



INTRODUCTORY. 

DEV'ELOPMENT THE PROMISE OF IMMORTALITY. 

The crown of the world is life. Without appre- 
ciative life all the blessings which, bountiful as the 
sunshine, make this world delightful, are purpose- 
less and nameless. Life is like an ^-Eolian harp, 
blessing the gentle zephyrs that, silent and unseen, 
float on until the living chords are reached, then 
wake in melting melody. 

Most delicate and complex, man's nature has 
chords found in no other. Wit rouses his mirth, 
beauty awakes his love, while height and depth, ex- 
tent and power, rousing his deepest soul to ecstasy, 
intoxicate him with the sublimest. Woe excites his 
pity ; loving benevolence and gratitude go hand in 
hand, while sympathy weeps for another's sorrow 
and laughs at another's joy. Well did England's 
mighty bard exclaim: "What a piece of work is 
man ! how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! 
in form and moving, how express and admirable ! 
in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how 
like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of 
animals ! " A king in a world so peculiarly adapted 
to his gratification and development that neither its 
position nor path in the universe nor its physical 
resources and conformations might sufifer change 
without detriment — in the midst of a career of ap- 
parently unlimited progress, just as he begins to ap- 



8 Dreams. 

predate and utilize the l)lessings which surround 
him, cut off by death, man has always been a prob- 
lem and a mystery. 

Gigantic minds of all ages have put forth titanic 
efforts to unravel the mystery of life ; still it stands 
towering in gloom, the sphinx of time, heedless of 
the human sand sifting over its base. 

Unsolvable questions of destiny are piled one 
above another, like strata on the mountain side. We 
see only the edges, but know not how vast their ex- 
tent. Among all the qualities common to humanity 
one there is so predominant through every stage of 
life, and when taken in connection with the other 
great truths of creation so pregnant that it seems to 
span the dark chasm of death and promise a world 
beyond. That quality is the systematic unfolding of 
powers— <levelopment. It is the underlying effect 
toward which unconscious infancy and ambitious 
youth strive. It crowns manhood ; and when hoary 
age sleeps, to wake no more, it is the true measure 
of life's success. But why is development so preg- 
nant? Because it involves a purpose, an end to- 
wards whose accomplishment it tends. Because, 
also, the whole course of creation, both animate and 
inanimate, was an unfoldment culminating in man ; 
and at his death broken, apparently, short off. 

The lifeless earth reached its present state of 
beauty and fitness by a series of steps upward, un- 
ceasing and resistless. The unfolding of the rose is 
not more marked with purpose and system than the 
unfolding from the earliest species entombed in the 



Dreams. 9 

stratification to the modern quickening earth, air 
and ocean. Consider now, together with the pecu- 
liar fitness of the world for man's home, and man 
for its ruler, that he is and always has been its sov- 
ereign, and the conclusion must follow that the stu- 
pendous changes undergone were for man. 

Man rules well. Sophocles says: "There are 
many terrible things, but nothing more terrible than 
man. He comes from across the hoary sea in the 
stormy winds, passing through the waves surging 
all around, and vexes even the favored lands of the 
gods by ploughing them from year to year. Adven- 
turous man takes flocks of fickle birds, and tribes of 
wild beasts and creatures of the sea, in well-woven 
nets. By his contrivance he controls the mountain- 
ranging, shaggy-necked beasts of the forest, and 
trains the horse and mountain bullock, unwearied by 
the neck-encircling yoke. All-inventive man has 
learned words and swift thought, and social dispo- 
sition, and how to shun the darts of uncomfortable 
frosts under the clear sky and in grievous storms of 
rain. There is nothing that is future that he has 
not some plan and way of attaining. Death alone 
he cannot escape." 

Exertion is man's scepter, and exertion is devel- 
opment. But is it as a species or as individuals? 
From tongue to tongue, from sire to son. on tablets 
of wood, of copper and bronze, on parchment and 
paper, the wisdom of the ages has come down to the 
present. But have we developed as species ? Every 
man begins as low now as ever before. Read the 



lo Dreams. 

most ancient literature, the l)ook of the Bible and 
Homer, and be convinced that " there were giants 
then." 

We cannot transcend the laws of genius. We are 
developed as individuals. The path from the cradle 
to the grave is written all over with one word — 
growth. It follows every act, every thought like a 
shadow ; but suppose manhood reached, does devel- 
opment stop? No! It stops not till this trembling 
heart ceases to throb. Shall inanimate matter be 
crowned with intelligence? Shall intelligence be 
crowned with development, and shall development 
cease? No! Development is a chain whose end is 
unknown. It began with the foundation of the 
world, it reaches into the unknown, but reason feels 
it is sustained. 



CHAPTER L 

I, Abdacates, who have been, was not, yet am, 
walked with Josephus, my friend, whose wisdom of 
ages is such tliat he is. 

I, Abdacates, am dark and sinewy as the race 
from which I came. Mine eyes seek the stars. The 
hot breath of the desert an incense sweet to my nos- 
trils is. As an ern in flight, so on the earth my feet 
are. 

Josephus is old ; yes. very old, so that for wis- 
dom there are like him few. His hair white as 
snow upon the mountain, on his shoulders as a 
downy mantle falls ; also his beard to the girdle of 
his purple robe. Long had we desired together to 
journey afar, whether iii the cool of the morn, or 
evening, or in the brightness of high noon we knew 
not ; for one wiser than we, as the sun to the star 
is brighter, had hitherto work, or rather joys called 
work, or work whose name is joy. for us. 

Now sent he one whom he is pleased to call the 
glory of his brightness. At his coming all thmgs 
took on a brighter hue. The pink and white wild 
rose, the pale forget-me-not. the dove and singing 
bird, all sweet, shy things, his presence seek. All 
such as are hurt or caught in a snare come, or aloud 
do crv, for his name is Peace. He a healing is, all 
nations to — the glory of him whose name is Love. 
He speaks, his voice as honey in the comb, as the 



12 Dreams. 

perfume of ten thousand spices sweeter. So said 
he, " Thy wish is known, Abdacates, the strong; 
also that of thy friend Josephus, the wise. He that 
considereth his servant as a child wishes thee all 
speed upon thy way. 

" Thou art quick to see, thy friend a hand to write 
hath ; also wisdom to guide ; therefore may thy 
journey be profitable to thee and those whom thou 
shall greet;" and he blessed us in the name of Him 
whose name is Love. And in the day-star of his 
brightness we departed ; Josephus with is script 
and staff, I, who am strong of limb and keen of eye, 
by his side. Azure was the dome above us, green 
was the grass our feet beneath, and soft to feel as 
fleecy billows of the cloud on summer breezes lightly 
floating; and rivulets like gleaming silver ran with 
rippling murmur to the sea, through flower-gemmed 
banks of tender beauty and voices sweet as songs 
of bulbul or coomg of mourning doves were heard 
within cool shadows of the lofty trees that waved 
their branches russet and clapped their leafy hands 
of verdant hue. bedecked with liquid drops of crystal 
dew as though in salutation of that glorious orb that 
cast warm, vivifying glances, e'en as in days gone 
long as men count time, when he, the day-god looked 
and smiled on living, leaping waters of the Nile in 
Egypt's slumberous land. 

Then the world was a babe and men were also 
babes in wisdom, not attaining to the knowledge of 
the Good whose name is Love. Mayhap they, my 
brethren, were fierce and wild; a secret 'tis, I'll tell 



Dreams. 13 

it not, nor vex with ancient dreams the glowing 
luster of the present day. 

Now it befell as we journeyed we beheld a city 
fair, with turrets high and low-thatched roofs and 
many a spire-crowned building, to which presently 
a host repaired. They walked slow-stepped and 
heavily, so we were much concerned, for it was long 
since we had looked upon the habitations of the 
children of the good, who dwelt upon this dainty 
emerald orb, the earth, which some benighted ones 
think, or appear to think, the universe. And we 
amazed were, for in all things men did differ much 
from what we knew when we ourselves did dwell 
with them. And so we sought some one to tell us 
the meaning of that which we uncomprehending 
saw. But when we spake they were as though they 
heard us not — a most unkind discourtesy, we 
thought, to those wdio yet were strangers. 

Presently we did observe a man of most benign 
appearance whom we thought amused at our most 
troublous mishap. He also appeared to be invisible 
to them, although he was a man of no mean pres- 
ence and did wear a most engaging countenance, 
whom, when Josephus did behold, he filled was with 
wondrous rapture, and I did learn they kindred were 
when on this little vale they tarried. Jacob, so his 
name was called ; he, too, had come to learn 
new lessons from its mystic lore, and like Josephus 
and myself did long to help some of its struggling 
children toward a happier way than that wherein 
they toiled with burdens heavy. And he did kindly 



14 Dreams. 

undertake the task of teaching us the customs of the 
present habitants. He here had been a longer time 
and was learned in all their curious vagaries. 

Considering us he did advise that we repair unto 
some place more solitary, that we might learn to 
clothe ourselves with the necessary material pres- 
ence to visible become to those who did surround 
us ; for now we knew we were to them " impalpable 
and thin as viewless air." 

So we did seek a place wherein to gain the more 
material substance. It was near a city by the sea 
that we did pitch our tent and wait till the perfected 
time for our appearing. Many came and joined our 
company. That power had Jacob, our host and 
friend, to draw unto himself those who were seek- 
ing knowdedge; and most kindly did he entreat his 
visitors and gave to drink sweet draughts from that 
well of wisdom which he held as his most ancient 
right. Som.e who came were fair of face and wise 
of mind, with the wisdom^ of this latter day. Others, 
dusky-browed, and of an older race who did bear 
more the semblance of mine own earthly brethren. 
And many of these did never clothe themselves 
with the garment of mortality. As for myself, as 
grew that garment on my lithesome limbs, my spirit 
yearned to leave the vasty waters and seek some des- 
ert place, with drifting, golden sands and peaceful 
quiet, there to rest me on my mantle and look up 
into the starry heavens and to hear again the still 
voices of its mighty solitude. But not for this T 
came, but to learn a lesson new that I might teach 



Dreams. 15 

my brethren who continually do come unto that 
home, from which I journeyed lately! also, it might 
be, those who came to us from the cottages and pal- 
aces of that city by the sea. 

We grew upon their sight as some strange mys- 
tery. Thou the tale shalt hear and lessons learn as 
did those who, urged by curious spirit, our presence 
sought and gathered golden grain from out the 
storehouse of our imagery, and 'tis written on mem- 
ory's living tablets. For ever by my side doth stand 
the royal scribe, Josephus, and his pen is winged and 
diamond-tipped. Moreover, if thou dost listen well 
it may be thou shalt hear an echo from among oiy 
many pupils; and some there be whose voices ring 
with blessed notes, as silver tongues in golden 
throats. Such must surely be our white-robed one, 
our Mary, and thus we hope thou too may'st catch 
some bright-winged thought within the jeweled 
meshes of a phantasy. 

Abdacates. 



CHAPTER II. 

At a fam.ous resort noted for its beautiful scenic 
effects and healthful, life-giving atmosphere, as well 
as the unostentatious elegance of those who sought 
its favored borders, for a time had met a party of 
friends intent upon availing themselves to the ut- 
most of its treasures of land and water. Boating 
and fishing parties, picnics and excursions, music 



1 6 Dreams. 

and dancing, with numerous innocent flirtations, af- 
forded ample amusement for the younger members 
of the company. While of the other ones, the gen- 
tlemen indulged in learned political discussions, and 
settled to their satisfaction many weighty problems 
that, sad to say, are vexing yet the public mind. 
Then there were wondrous stories of youthful ex- 
ploits, hunting and piscatorial, such as are not 
known at the present time, and are regarded with 
amused tolerance as the omnipresent fish story of 
this degenerate day. 

The ladies also discussed many subjects of much 
interest from their point of view. Matters of church 
and home, and, bless their tender hearts, of worthy 
charity, and lighter themes of dress and fashion. 
They, too, had tales of youthful conquest, wherein 
they netted fish of other nature; and it is greatly 
to be feared that those who occupied most prominent 
positions within those oft-told tales would not rec- 
ognize themselves in the language-pictures that were 
painted, such a glamour does distance cast upon the 
mimic stage of memory. 

Besides all this there was the never-faihng subject 
upon which they grew most eloquent — the beauties 
and the virtues of their children. Of most amiable 
disposition and stupendous wisdom, they did lend 
kindly sympathy unto each other's rhapsodies ; and 
yet within their hearts did form the thought : 

" O wad some power the giftie gie us. 
To see oursels as ithers see us," 



Dreams. 17 

The superficial observer was filled with wonder as 
to where those favored children obtained their won- 
drous beauty and supernal wisdom. Ah, well! love 
is blind, and this is only one of the happy phases of 
its blindness; for well it is that there are some to 
cast the mantle of their charity over all our faults 
and frailties. 

Thus, in harmless gossip and amusement, the 
time was passed until o«e day a more absorbing 
topic of interest was introduced; for, be it known, 
that into this most exclusive place had come, whence 
no one could say, a certain encampment. They had 
pitched their tents in a secluded spot, down by the 
sounding sea. Why tents, when the city was so well 
supplied with most excellent hostelries? Why sought 
they this unsocial solitude? Quiet and unobtrusive 
as they were, strange stories were told of their opu- 
lence and most barbaric splendor ; of hospi- 
tality and unfailing charity! Moreover, they were 
reported as persons of pleasing, though peculiar, ap- 
pearance, and were said to be possessed of great 
learning and much wisdom of most occult character; 
so that the unlearned, yes, many of the learned, who 
sought their audience, were wont to converse regard- 
ing them in awed, mysterious whisperings. 

Society was filled with speculation and surmise 
concerning them, though there were none, from the 
least to the greatest, that could say but they had met 
with the utmost courtesy and gentle kindliness from 
these strange sojourners in a strange land. Wealth 
and position no more disturbed their calm serenity 



i8 Dreams. 

than did piteous, cringing poverty. They surely 
(hd appear to be in r.owise respecters of the person, 
but (Ud seem to strip the husk from off the person- 
ahty of their consultant, as ancient Egyptian did 
hc'pe to unwind, in future days, the binding" cloths 
from the mummied casement restored to active, pul- 
sating life by the undying flame that slumbered in 
that casement. 

Thus did they imwind the many conservative 
bindings from the personality of the naked, shiver- 
ing ego that they sought. So fascinating is any- 
thing of a mysterious nature that they had become 
most popular, and yet more to be desired, fashion- 
able teachers of the people. So of the many lessons 
taught some few were caught within the pages of 
this late-written book of allegory. 



CHAPTER III. 

Why_, my friend, that strange look, as if thy spirit 
were far away leaving only the vacant tenement? 
Seest thou some vision dark ? The balmy air kisses 
the tall tree-tops and wafts itself in tender sighs to- 
ward the vernal hills where peaceful sheep, a snowy 
flock, are nibbling its mossy verdure. E'en swallows 
fly with silent wings across the azure of the sky, and 
rippling waves beat soft melody upon the shore this 
blissful hour. 

All nature seem.s to feel a deep content this Sab- 



Dreams. 19 

bath morn, and hark ! the church bell's clear, peal- 
ing chimes fall with joyous tone upon the ear, call- 
ing men and women forth to worship at the altar of 
the Blessed One who came to seek and save the lost. 

Happy children, hand in hand, go there to sing 
the praise of that sweet babe, in a manger born, 
whose star is that most beauteous Bethlehem. Look 
how bright their faces are, almost like the little ones, 
one might fancy, that He took in His arms and 
blessed in that distant time when He rebuked His 
stern disciples standing near, who would have the 
fond mothers and their little ones away. How gently 
his arms enfolded, how sweet his smile, how kind 
his loving voice to these fluttering, timid nestlings 
of the earth. 

" Look not so sad, dear friend, behold and rejoice 
at the glad tidings these pictures bring ; or, if thou 
wilt, tell me what vision thou dost see that hath cast 
its shadow on all the gracious fairness of thy coun- 
tenance." 

" Yea, child of my heart, the picture is lovely, 
happy and full of joy; well canst thou voice its 
varied sounds and paint its brightest hues. The 
vision that I saw differed much in light and shade, 
and yet I fear it true. Shall I tell it thee? Perhaps 
"twill sadder thy bright face and dim the sparkle of 
thine eye. Wilt have it?" 

" T, too, looked on the happy face of nature and 
was glad ; glad as the ripples that did laugh to find 
the shore so fair, or swallows which, borne unon the 
ambient air, most graceful curves descry o'er hills of 



20 Dreams. 

vernal green. But when the church hell's clear 
sounding note fell on my ear and I heheld the happy 
throng of children sent hy loving mothers' care to 
learn of one most fair, then did I think of other lit- 
tle ones on life's highway, upon whose infant brows 
doth fall no mother's kiss ; who, hungry, sad and 
footsore, roam the streets all the long day, striving 
to gain a miserable pittance from the All-Father's 
store and so sustain the childish life, so full of grief 
and care, for whom no father cheerful toils, and with 
fond counsel and caress makes glad their hearts at 
close of day. But grown old in shame and sin, with 
scanty garments that scarce shield their shivering 
forms, with tear-drops frozen on their cheeks and 
bare feet pattering on the stony pave, they cry to 
hearts that not less stony are ; and if the hearts of 
those who call upon his name so careless are, those 
who claim to follow in his footsteps sure, thinkest 
thou his arms less tenderly enfold these wild flowers 
from his garden, who perish in their bloom? But if 
perchance one attains to man's estate the shuddering 
world is shocked by tale of ghastly crime, and cry 
him shame, whom they have schooled in penury and 
vice until his soul hath grown like beast of prey, a 
warped distorted thing, which they hurl back into 
the Great Giver's hand unfit for this world's strange 
righteousness. Should one cry out, behold what 
thou hast wrought, they say, ' Our hands are 
clean, our rofces are white ; are we our brother's 
keeper? ' Or, 'tis mayhap, a woman with face once 
like a star in azure space, but grown a plague-spot 



Dreams. 21 

and an ulcer, spreading her treacherous snares 
abroad, laughing to scorn the cries of many broken 
hearts and ruined homes." 

As years creep on apace she meets a happy mother 
and her child; something in the child's sweet face, 
the mother's look of mingled wonder and of scorn, 
mayhap, a struggling pity in her eyes, awake an- 
other self to shame and loathing of what is, and 
there is none to lift the drooping head and say, " Go, 
thou, and sin no more." 

The next day an empty shell is drawn from the 
river bed ; its tenant — it hath flown ; and wives' 
and mothers' hearts are glad the Magdalen is dead. 
How so? Where is that sentient thing that called 
that shell its home? Thinkest thou how fair an 
adorning thy brother and thy sister are for the All- 
Father's home ! All day they cry amid their black- 
ness, " No man, O Lord, cared for my soul ; an out- 
cast I from birth. O God, look not on me." 

The vision changed and I saw an honest son of 
labor, sinewy, strong; willingly he toiled to win the 
bread for wife and child. So long as on the hearth 
the fire did burn, contented he. On his wife's lips 
was a song and in the child's tone a ripple of laugh- 
ter was heard. A shadow swept athwart, and I saw 
that that man no longer in the busy world held 
place. 

No fault of his, but of such as he there was a sur- 
feit ; his pittance saved did gild some edifice of 
Grace, or was as contribution given to benefit some 
far-off, sin-begotten race. Despair was on his face, 



' i 



22 Dreams. 

his hand was clenched, and in his heart a curse. His 
wife — no song was on her hp — hut in her eye a tear ; 
no fire upon the hearth, though the icy blast drove 
fast the scurrying snowflakes past. The child, a pal- 
lid shadow, cried, " Mother, does not our Heavenly 
Father care ; we have no bread this Christmas day, 
and has He none to spare?" 

As this picture passed away there was a motley 
throng, a most barbaric sight : A starving mother 
and her starving child; old men with palsied hands 
outstreched and women unto whose hearts the bitter 
wormwood was entrancing sweet; and some whose 
limbs had long the slavish shackles borne and were 
weakened yet, for long prenatal years had worn 
deep their rankling scars on mind and heart, and 
they dreamed strange dreams of kindred and friends 
gone, they knew not where ; for they were sold in 
bondage long ago to till the soil which did yield its 
treasures to another, to care for homes which ne'er 
were theirs. 

There were others yet, but not of these, that 
dreamed of wigwam homes with the tree-hung, 
wind-rocked cradle of the papoose brave, and of 
wild deer and fleet-footed game, gone like misty 
shadows of the past, to which their thoughts forever 
turn, sad and lone. In savage ignorance they their 
birthright sold and awoke too late to know that in 
the land their fathers held they had no place. An 
Ishmaelitish race are they from sire to son, and dark 
vengeance hold against the fair invading band whose 
treachery they now understand. Some shook the 



Dreams. 23 

prison bars and raved and swore; and when within 
the walls of Zion's house the well-kept flock knelt 
down to pray there was a sullen moan that voicerl 
itself among this outcast throng, and when the right- 
eous ones arose to praise God for good estate, that 
they were not as other men, even as that outcast 
throng, then did there sound from out that throng 
a wail of miglity woe, a cry to rend the heavens, and 
I thought that cry reached first the Father's ear, be- 
fore the prayer and song of praise. 

Some there were in Zion's house that heard it 
also, for there dwelt good men and true, only their 
eyes were blinded by the multitude of lights, the 
brightness of life, and the joys of peace and plenty, 
so they saw not. Their ears also were deafened by 
the cries of lo, here, or lo, there, or this is the way, 
and the songs that were sung; but there were some 
who both saw and heard and then did they recall 
that long ago one said, and he spake as having au- 
thority, " Not every one that saith unto me. Lord, 
Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven ; but 
he that doeth the will of my Father which is in 
heaven." And they called to mind that he told them 
plainly that the Father's will was that they should 
visit the sick and the afflicted, the widows and the 
fatherless, the hungry and the naked and those that 
were cast into prison ; and their eyes being opened 
they saw many such, they thought, among that out- 
side throng, and they said to their brethren, those 
that dwelt at peace in Zion's walls : " Look upon 
our brother and sister, they are naked and hungry, 



24 Dreams. 

bruised and cast down ; let us go out and help them 
that they may arise." And they that heard were 
amazed at him, and said : " We see it not and were 
it so it were a sinful thing to war with powers that 
ordained be." When again he that saw and heard 
cried out yet more strongly, they said : " A mad 
man thou, a heretic and a stirrer up of sedition ; why 
clamorest thou against the e&tablished law of justice, 
— thou causeth strife." Then they cast him out 
among the multitude and he went his way, raising 
the fallen, healing the sick, comforting the sad, 
feeding the hungry, counseling with the erring; and 
although they who cast him out said of him, as was 
said of another in olden time, " He dwelleth with 
outcasts and sinners," his spirit seemed ever to feel 
the loving smile of Him who said, " Come unto me. 
all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will 
give you rest." The sunshine oi the Father dwelt 
ever within his heart ; yet among those unto whom 
he ministered there were many that rebuked him 
and many who scorned. The thorn of ingratitude 
pierced deeply, and ofttimes the flesh grew weak, but 
he lifted his eyes to whence came his help, and 
answered not again. -for he knew their utter weak- 
ness through long ages past, that thew knew not 
what manner of spirit they were of; yet the All- 
Father knew, and so to reach the chords of music 
buried deep within their hearts by cruelty and wrong 
he still strove on that they yet might sound a pure 
harmonious whole in song of praise, for the depths 
of love the great Father bears unto his sons and 



Dr cants. 25 

daughters all ; of which his own was but a faint re- 
flection. So he soothed their sorrows and eased 
their pains. 

After a weary vigil he was found with a smile 
of inefifable sweetness on his lips and on his pallid 
brow a look as though the spirit witness, the Mes- 
senger of Peace, the Comforter, had said, " It is well, 
it is well with thy soul." 

Then came they and said, " Behold how thin he 
grew ; he gave his strength to others ; was that 
wise? Hearest thou the wailing from the horrid 
crew with whom he dwelt, and though he gave his 
life for others, it was little good he did ; it were bet- 
ter far that vermin such as they w^ere gone. A leader 
should he have been in the brilliant world of intellect 
and art, and living now instead of such a foolish 
sacrifice to die for such as these." But others smote 
upon their breasts and cried, " An angel unawares 
he dwelt with us and now is gone. Greater love 
hath no man than to give his life for another." 

Straightway a costly monument for him was 
builded, while those he loved still cried for bread. 

" Dost thou like the picture, child? I fain would 
have thee smile and wake me from this dream of 
blind injustice." 

" Nay, friend, I cannot smile. Too well I know 
it is not all a dream, for even I have known of such 
heartaches, mine own grows faint to think upon it ; 
but T am helpless. What can I. a woman, do? Frail 
and weak, my counsel food for laughter, or for pity's 
smile; e'en should I speak, which much I fear to 



26 Dreams. 

do." But the Master said, Not so; thy tender smile 
and gentle Vv'ord shall touch many a broken heart 
and brusied spirit as with a healing balm. Go forth, 
thy message bear, and God will bless thy work, for 
none may live or die unto himself alone, for unto 
each the Father gives a message sweet to help their 
kindred spirits here. Be wise and teach its import 
grand to those who with you dwell, till, like the 
pebble in the waters cast, the circle ever wider grows 
until it reach an amplitude far beyond the throw- 
er's ken ; so shall thy work its richest fruitage find 
where thou hast little dream.ed. 

Then to me he gave a quaint and curious casket, 
saying, " Look well, dear daughter, on this casket 
of pebbles, which I bring to thee ; though common 
and sordid they appear, I do assure thee that their 
rough, uncouth exterior hides many a precious gem 
which, polished by the lapidary's art, would be fit 
for queen's adorning, or king's ransom. 

" Thus it is with the lessons of life ; those oft- 
times deemed of little worth shall brightest luster 
add to garnered wealth of all eternity. Do not de- 
spair though clouds may lower and thou shalt hear 
the sullen thunder roll, and mid murky blackness see 
fitful lightning's flash. Be true to thy honest 
thought ; so shall the storm cloud pass away and 
thou shalt know that sweet serenity of soul that doth 
reward those who fear not the coward's laugh or the 
world's most sneering smile. The purest souls must 
stand alone ; in coming years some may scale the 



Dreams. 27 

mountain's rugged side and some pass on; then 
they, too, shaU stand alone." 

As he spoke a vision came before my eyes; I 
found myself without volition of my own on a lone 
mountain top where all was calm and still ; afar the 
sun, a golden ball, was slowly sinking beneath clouds 
of crimson and gold, which cast their bright reflec- 
tions on the untrodden snow that lay in drifted 
heaps around. A soothing breath of silence fell 
upon my soul, a strange at-one-ness with the scene; 
and then I found that night crept stilly on — a moon- 
less, starry night. Soft shadows fell upon the world 
of drifted whiteness and where erstwhile was crim- 
son glow, caught from the brilliant sunset colors, 
was now a dream of purity and peace ; yet I stood 
alone and a still voice whispered to my spirit : "Thus 
it is even with those rare ones of whom thou hast 
often said, 'Oh, that I was as one of them; the 
plaudits of the multitude they hear,' which thou 
didst think an incense sweet; but now thou seest 
that they stand alone with silence only their com- 
panion fair, yet with that blessed at-one-ness with 
nature in her varying moods, and in the great All- 
Father's peace, in whom we live and move and have 
our being 

" Thou knowest, then, what will be thy lot if thou 
shouldst choose any road that leads unto the moun- 
tain top ; yet they have many pleasures who toil- 
ing are for highest good, and upward look with a 
child's unquestioning trust. They have in the All- 



28 Dreams. 

Father's love a guerdon sweet, beyond what this 
world can give. 

" Looking down they behold the struggling ones 
below ; then a spirit of tenderness like a mother's 
love doth flood all their being and they rejoice 
with those whose steps are firmly planted upon the 
mountain's rugged side; and when they gain a van- 
tage ground, the triumph also theirs. But when 
shall one his steps retrace, or strives and yet falls, a 
pity that is as winged pain thrills all their being 
through, and to the All-Strength they cry aloud 
that swift he send an emissary to assist the faltering 
one, for his brother's loss he makes his own." 



CHAPTER IV. 

To me again was shown a sleeping form, a great 
spirit to whom God had given the care of life and 
the soul of things. 

When this I saw I cried to this strong spirit : 
" Awake thou dreaming loveliness, thou Psyche 
wake ! Too long hast thou slept thy marble couch 
upon. The world hath need of thee. Open thine 
eyes, arise ! Murder and war sound through the 
land; Famine creeps swiftly on and Pestilence; 
not such as fell upon the land from the insensate 
h^nd of nature tliat l)lameless was. but famine of 
Love and Kitidness ; scarce can I tell which to pity 
most, the poverty of soul of him who sees his broth- 



Dreams. 29 

er's shivering and worn frame and saddened, hope- 
less face, liis tattered garment and toil-worn hands 
dividing the scanty morsel he has gained by hours 
of painful labor, taken from much needed rest. 
Arismg early in his cheerless home and hurrymg 
forth intent his food to win and fearing much some 
other as needy as himself, with still greater vigilance, 
may gain the vantage ground wherein he hoped to 
earn his pittance. 

" If such there be, a struggle then and strife as 
when ravenous beasts snarl o'er the firstling of the 
flock, which one has taken and the other craves. 
Their poverty is great, but is it more than that of 
him who doth fare sumptuously every day, for 
whom the earth doth yield its treasures and golden 
grain waves its ripened plenty from many smiling 
fields, where the lark's sweet song is heard and sun- 
shine's glowing warmth doth fall on purpling vine 
that garners up its sweetness in many a luscious 
cluster, wine-filled and for whom are fatlings slain, 
the gorgeous fabric wove, to whom are brought 
treasures of Art. of Poetry and Song to gild their 
salon or bedeck their fleshly dwelling places? 

" Sometimes for gewgaw baubles to gloat their 
vanity upon, there is given that which would place a 
sulifering one beyond wearing care and burden for 
his short life, or fit some younger, stronger one 
with armament to battle with the world which he 
must face, or free the honest father from the haunt- 
ing fear that should cruel fate befall and he a 
mangled corpse be borne home his little ones must 



30 Dreams. 

starve or torn be b}- stern necessity's relentless hand 
from a mother's frail, tender clasp, and forced in 
more fortunate but alien households, to gain a hard- 
earned, ofttimes a grudged sustenance ; while for 
love and sweet companionship the soul starves on. 

" Think not I blame the pampered one whose lan- 
guid gaze falls on these struggling ones with won- 
drous amaze ; not so, his poverty is great. Where 
are the 'broideries rich and rare, the vestments soft 
and warm, woven the blessing from of him who to 
perish ready was had he not found a friend in him? 
What food shall his famished soul feed upon, grown 
most fair, watered by widow's grateful tears and 
fanned by the gleeful laughter of childish hearts 
made glad and ripened in the sunshine of the All- 
Father's smile? 

" T fear me much his hapless, naked spirit will fare 
but ill. So these two fam.ished ones, the one of 
fleshly body, the other starved spirit-self doth war; 
the one filled with burning envy, the other with cold, 
withering scorn — a canker each. WHiile murder and 
war come like a stealthy foe, neither sees nor pities 
his l:)rother's sore distress, therefore do I cry unto 
thee: 

" Thou God-given One arise ! In ages past, in 
the age that now is, and in ages yet to come, to thee 
hast been given the power to see and know the true 
and just. Yet in ages past thou wert young, and 
mayhap like all who have not suffered, cruel ; but 
now hast thou grown slothful and slumbereth while 
on the sluggish air prophetic sounds of war's most 



Dreams. 3 1 

savage note, of famine's wail is heard; and stealthily 
robber's foot doth soundless fall, or the listening ear 
doth catch the murderer's gloating croak o'er yellow 
gold, while the sobbing of lust-devoured women and 
wretched children's cry is borne on high. 

" Arise in thy majesty and bring thy supernal 
wisdom swift to bear upon these ills of life and quick 
deliver from their grievous state the helpless ones 
who call aloud for succor and redress." 

While thus I cried for vengeance swift, the Mas- 
ter smited, and in my hand he placed this golden 
Trowel thou dost see, and so spake he : 

" My child, clothe thyself in the white garment of 
purity and take with thee this golden Trowel of Ap- 
plication and search diligently for the hid treasure 
that lieth in the heart of thy sister and thy brother, 
which was given to each by the Great Father when 
they left his spirit home to enter on the shifting 
scenes of this world's varied experiences ; and I 
know this, that here only can they find the recjuisite 
qualities for the polishing of those most precious 
jewels that are for their adorning when thev shall be 
called hence to their Father's Mansion, to the great 
jubilee. But the debris of the world and its lusts 
have swept in upon them ; brutal sensuality, bestial 
indulgence and besotted ignorance, some have 
claimed ; and others who have kept their garments 
white to look upon are eaten with blighting envy as 
a mildew and some with an accursed thing, foul 
slander's tongue, have dropped the poisoned torrent 
of their words till, like the ocean's wave, thev have 



32 Dreams. 

returned, washing their serpent's sHmy coils on 
spirit self, and all jewels are buried tathoms deep. 

"Search thou as for the hid treasure, for the Dia- 
mond of Purity, the Emerald of Hope, the Topaz 
of Wisdom, the Ruby of Love, the Pearl of Inno- 
cence, the Amethyst of Sympathy and the Opal 
which bears within its ever-changing heart of fire 
the memory of days that are past into the misty 
world of dreams. Finding these, do thou hasten 
and with loving kindness bring to those who have 
lost, and they shall receive them with much joy for, 
although thou knowest not, many have sought with 
bitter, unavailing tears what thou hast found. Per- 
chance the voice of rejoicing may awaken the sleep- 
ing Psyche on whom thou hast called; moreover, 
thou shalt have added a lasting luster to the jewels 
thou thyself shalt wear as thy breast-plaste, shield 
and buckler. Neither shalt thou be afraid when thou 
shalt cross the narrow bridge between this world of 
vagaries and that beyond and enter the life of pure 
realities. Thou shalt bind them upon thy brow and 
they shall be a light to thy pathway, even a lamp to 
thy feet. And the joyous songs of those whom thou 
hast helped shall cheer thee until the music of the 
golden cymbals shalt -fall upon thy listening ear, 
and the welcoming hands of those thou lovest are 
outstretched to greet thee, and thou art at home in 
thy Father's kingdom, life's weary warfare o'er." 

Then T saw an innumerable host clothed in gar- 
ments of white with flowing folds of most transpa- 
rent purity gleaming bright, led on by one whom 



Dreams. 3^ 

once I deemed most fair and knew most true, and 
on tlieir faces was the look that thou hast seen on 
the face of one, when for a moment the spirit self 
doth break its tleshly thrall with glowing light, and 
then T knew the words he spake were true. So it 
is that I ever strive the self's interior self to find, 
that I may bring the lucid treasure forth and joy 
me to make glad the brother's or sister's heart that 
sadly wept o'er precious jewels lost. 



CHAPTER V. 

As a crystal fountain set in an emerald field cast- 
ing upward its silvery spray, and each tiny globule 
catching the sunbeam in its bosom, reflects the pris- 
matic colors of the rainbow, and returning to the 
fount whence it came takes with it the purify- 
ing influences of the ethereal element with which it 
was mingled, so each spirit that aspires to the un- 
failing Sun of Righteousness doth catch and reflect, 
each in its finite way, the infinite Love and Purity 
of the All-Father ; and thus returning to its life and 
associations brings with it, perhaps, unconsciously, 
the strength and power to purify, in a measure, those 
conditions in which it is placed. 

This being so we may ever aspire after the high- 
est, that we may grow into the likeness of our loving 
elder brother, and become as evangels here upon 
earth, bearing healing on our way. 



34 Dreams. 

Methoughit of one I knew who had tried me sore. 
Ofttinies had I lifted him from the pit into which he 
had fallen, and as oft had he returned, until I said, 
" I will not, for there remaineth no good in him." 
But the voice said : 

" No, yet again shalt thou deliver him, for he is 
weak, yet he striveth and he shall gain strength; and 
thou — a rich reward. For although his garment be 
tattered and torn, when he ariseth he mendeth its 
gaping rents v.-ith the cloth of earnest endeavor; and 
presently the old garment shall disappear and he will 
be clothed upon with a new garment of great resist- 
ance, able to withstand the stinging sleet and drench- 
ing rain of strong temptation. Thou hast observed 
the rough exterior of the pearl-bearing mollusk, 
which, when thou hast discovered its interior beauty, 
thou no longer considereth its rough external, but 
joy thee in the beauty of its concept — the lustrous 
pearl. So when he is clothed upon with the garment 
of earnest endeavor, thou shalt no longer remember 
the tattered garment of fleshly weakness which he 
was wont to wear, but rejoice in that to which he has 
attained." 



CHAPTER VI. 

I, IN the spirit, saw a most beautiful sight. In the 
soft gray sky of evening hung a star of wondrous 
radiance, large and fair, which shone with a clear. 



Dreams. 35 

white luster. From the side of the star came a dove 
of snowy plumage and the voice said : 

Behold the Star of Hope and the Dove of Peace ! 
The star is even now shining for the children of 
earth. The wise men have seen it in the east and 
hail it as the day-star which will yet awake the chil- 
dren of this life from the heavy apoplectic slumber 
into which they have fallen. 

The Dove of Peace goeth forth to see if the long, 
dark years of superstition and wrong have vanished, 
and she bringeth healing on her wings; and when 
man shall cease to vex his brother man and oppress 
his sister woman the Dove shall abide with them 
and each shall seek the other's happiness rather than 
his own. 

Every one will be cared for as never before, for 
each will s'trive for the other's highest good. The 
spring-time of life shall be glad, for the love and 
counsel of the wise will lead them through the pleas- 
ant paths of learning under the tall trees of knowl- 
edge and beside the bright rivers of wisdom. They 
shall climb the high mountain of attainment and 
pluck the sweet flowers of discovery. Their feet 
shall press the soft turf of instruction and they shall 
rest beside the great rock of Purity and grow strong 
in the sunshine of Love. And when shall be found a 
flower of supernal brightness all shall he glad, for it 
will not be plucked to wither in one man's hand, but 
he will hasten to call his fellow-travelers and they 
together will rejoice and enjoy the new-found 
treasure. 



36 Dreams. 

When the clays of summer have come then will 
each hasten to make glad the heart of the other in 
joys of home where they nurture the little ones that 
come to hear of the great pleasures in store for them. 
They shall partake of the fruits of plenty and 
drink the kiscious wine of honor; and when their 
autumn shall bedeck itself with gorgeous colors, 
purple, crimson and gold — typical of well-earned 
wisdom, lasting friendship and the gold of prom- 
ise — then whispers, low sighing, the wind that tells 
that the time of winter draweth nigh, and the tender 
hands of love m.inister with joy to their wants, then 
the sun doth quietly sink to rest within his cloudy 
draperies, and feathery blossoms of the air doth 
downward float, covering the face of nature with 
snowy mantle, soft and warm say violets and snow- 
drops that shelter in its depth. 

Silver stars come forth one by one and look with 
solemn prom.ise on its whiteness. Then doth he 
know that now is the time of his departure, the les- 
sons he came to learn have been conned and what he 
deemed most difficult hath well repaid the many 
hours of arduous toil. 

He calleth his friends together, that they may re- 
joice with him. Old men and women, those he knew 
in the merry days of youth, but who now, like 
himself, wear the snow of promise on their brows, 
and look forward with joyous anticipation to the 
time when they, too. shall be promoted to the higher 
life. Young men and maidens with the strong and 
supple frame of youth, who long to do him reverence 



Dreams. 37 

whose example they do emulate, and happy children 
who ever love their wise and gentle friend, all gather 
around with songs of joy, for he goeth to the place 
prepared for him, where in the sunshine of the Fath- 
er's love, the ice and snow of age shall melt in the 
sparkling waters of eternal life. 

He shall pluck the flowers of new discovery, the 
amaranth and asphodel that blossom there, and gar- 
ner the precious wheat of accumulated wisdom. 

Thus with his hand in blessing placed upon the 
head of a fair-haired child, with songs of rejoicing 
ringing in his ears, he leaveth the worn fleshly gar- 
ment tliat has served him well. Going forth, the 
Star of Hope lighteth his pathway and the Dove of 
Peace abideth with those that remain. 

When this picture was brought to me I was op- 
pressed and cried aloud : 

" Oh, that it were so even now, but it is not ! Thy 
children, Father, do war and dififer one from the 
other and that in thy name. Then I fell face down- 
ward and called to the Father, the Eternal Good, 
and wept till my eyes grew weary and heavy with 
slumber, for I was even as others who could not 
watch e'en though it were a sad Gethsemane, and I, 
too, slept and dreamt a dream. 



CHAPTER Vn. 
I SAW a winding stairway up which, one by one. 



38 Dreams. 

were passing an innunieral)le throng ; yet no two 
were together, for when one had gained a step, the 
foot of the one preceding was just parting from it. 
Each carried a flaming torch, some of which burned 
steadily and were upright held, while others wavered 
and flamed as if the bearer faced a heavy gale. 
Others carried theirs aslant as if not caring much 
aboiit the upward journey. Although all were 
forced irresistibly onward, some fain would linger ; 
yet they, too, passed on. Some looked on me earn- 
estly and their faces grew to a strange similitude to 
faces I had known and loved who had gone to the 
mystery of the higher life. Then it grew^ upon my 
consciousness that the innumerable multitude that 
came, I knew not whence and went I knew not 
whither, were those who are constantly being called 
from us to go into a wider life than this. Those 
who went willingly when the Father called, having 
striven to fulfil His will while in this life, trusting in 
His promises — walked with uplifted heads, carrying 
their torches firmly and steadily ; these went rever- 
ently but fearlessly into the great unknown. 

Those whose torches flickered and burned un- 
steadily were those beset by many doubts and fears : 
but who fought those fears and trusted in the mercy 
of tlie Good ; and those whose torches were blown 
as by a heavv. steady wind were those whose lives 
had been one long, continuous struggle. I saw that 
they walked firmly but slowly forward, with a resig- 
nation taught by sorrow, and feared naught that 
should betide. 



Dreams. 39 

Those who trailed their torches, looked back and 
lingered, were those who fain would have remained 
amid the joys and sorrows, the lights and shades of 
this kaleidoscopic life. Mayhap a tender love for 
some one they were leaving caused them to linger, 
backward turn, with halting step and slow. The 
torches that they carried, each and every one, was 
that light of Truth which is given to those who enter 
on the journey here to guide them on their way 
until they return to Him who sent them forth, bring- 
ing the gain of their labors with them. Some a 
beauteous fabric, others broken, torn and soiled, 
where tears have fallen on stitches lost when most 
anxiously they wTought. I saw that as they looked 
on me where I was at the lowermost step, it was as 
if they feared to waken one from his slumber. Was 
that one I ? Soon, ah, soon shall I awaken also and 
go on my way ! Help me, dear Father, that I go 
aright, for amid the multitude of leaders whom shall 
I follow ? I greatly fear that I may turn aside from 
the path in which I should walk, for they differ 
greatly one from another. Then the guide, who is 
ever with me, said: 

" Dost thou remember the vision of the window? 
let not your heart be troubled, the Father smileth on 
all." 



CHAPTER VUl. 
The vision of the window was this: Listening- 



40 Dreams. 

one rest-day to the discourse of a brave, liberal 
teacher of the people, as nearly as I can recall he 
said the' day was coming when there would no 
longer be petty divisions among those who were 
striving after righteousness, behind whose names 
they would hide to war with each other, and say, 
" I am of this, you are of that; and so on down the 
long list of names behind which we try to entrench 
ourselves ; but that the time was approaching when 
there would no longer be Jew or Gentile, bond or 
free, that eventually all will meet on a higher alti- 
tude where each will extend the hand of brotherly 
love and kindness to the other.'' 

This may not be the exact letter of the discourse 
but it is certainlv the spirit thereof. Hearing this 
I a-dreaming fell, for a dreamer of dreams I, and a 
seer of visions from my youth up. I was caught up 
into the clouds and there w^as shown a glorious 
temple, whose builder and maker was God. Of 
purest alal:)aster was the wall, one side was I placed 
and the spirit bade me look ; and, lo ! there was a 
wondrous window most glorious to behold. A 
strange mosaic window of precious stones, each to 
its appointed place was fitted and none could say, I 
have no need of Jhee, for should one of the least be 
removed the grand harmonious wdiole were lost. 
Together they formed one gorgeous chord of color ; 
and then the light of the All-Father's smile fell up- 
on the window and all these combining did give the 
white light of purity, which, vibratiiig through space, 
fell in undulating waves on some far off planet, 



Dreams. 41 

where struggled and strove to the light many help- 
less ones like ourselves, and its purity and strength 
enveloped them and drew them onward and upward, 
so they sang for very joy; and said, surely some 
great good shall come to us and how I love all those 
who with me dwell. How true, how good, how 
noble every one ; but I saw not until this light had 
come tliat should one do aught amiss, or fall, how 
quickly would I deliver him. Then I thought the 
tender spirit said, " Let none rebuke another, but 
let each strive after perfection in his own appointed 
place." 

When all are perfected then will they know that 
not one note shall be missed when the stars together 
sing and on the spirit's ear is borne again the song, 
" Glory to God in the Highest; on earth Peace and 
Good Will toward men." and each will know that he 
is a child of the Eternal Good, the All-Father of 
spirits whose principle of eternal love embodied it- 
self in the form of our Elder Brother, a high priest 
capable of being touched with a feeling of our in- 
firmities, having himself suffered likewise. 



CHAPTER IX. 

The world with all its petty cares and strifes fell 
from me like a garment ; like an eagle poised in air 
was L Above, the glorious orb of day in vaulted, 
cloudless blue, was set. Far below, the world with 



42 Dreams. 

its hills and valleys, cities and hamlets small, were 
pictured, with all their inmates in silence most pro- 
foimd. A child's fabric of blocks and cards 
not more fragile was ; but on the sea — the 
sea o'er which I poised, the vast, resistless 
sea — full many ships were sailing, and I saw 
that although they sailed from many ])orts 
they all sought one harbor. I also saw many 
that were pleasure boats, fit only to skim 
the shore, unseaworthy, yet they gaily ventured out 
with music and song; which ofttimes was changed 
to wails of anguish, for beneath the apparently placid 
waves were terrible rocks and treacherous whirl- 
pools; to these led the swift current of sophistry, 
and being caught in this some fragile boats most 
swiftly were carried on to where they lightly played 
in the treacherous whirlpool of indulgence, until 
they were engulfed in the maelstrom of habit and 
dashed to pieces on the rocks of despair. I saw 
when this happened that from all the ships were sent 
out boa*^s to seek and save; and where the boats 
went not, were thrown out ropes, so that, peradven- 
turc. they might reach some struggling one before it 
was too late. Among the ships was one that rode 
the waves most stately, staunch and brave ; the crew 
also had the look of kindred. The ship's name was 
Com.passion and the rope they used was called 
brotlierly love : the name of the life-boat was Pa- 
tient Endurance. They saved many that were ready 
to perish, for their captain himself had set the ex- 
ample and said the way of promotion was this: that 



Dreams. 43 

he who would be the greatest among them should 
serve the least. He spared not himself, but did most 
diligently serve also. He was of noble countenance, 
serene, and a dignity clothed him upon as a garment. 
Some called him the Nazarene, others the Savior, 
some simply Jesus, yet others Jesus the Christ; and 
truly with him dwelt that love which vaunteth not 
itself, that suffereth long and is kind. 

There was some disagreement as to what he should 
be called, but he called himself the Son of Man, 
making toiling, suffering humanity his very brother- 
hood, and all agreed that his was the most happy 
medium by which to seek and save those who were 
ready to perish. The strands of the rope of brotherly 
love are woven from the fiber of experience and in- 
terior perception and are exceedingly strong. The 
ship of Compassion never faileth, but is brave and 
true ; those who man the life-boat, Patient Endu- 
rance, are courageous, with an alert watchfulness, 
following the commands of their Captain and read- 
ing, e'en at the darkest hour, by the light of the 
ever-burning lamp given by the great Commander 
who sent their master forth, they can not fail, yet 
in some sad moments, alas ! the light is blurred and 
they have inadvertently made many mistakes 
which T am assured they will eventually retrieve, for 
they will be assisted by a bright and shining light, 
which is beginning to dawn for all, and will be seen 
from the east even unto the west. Yet my heart is 
sad for them, when I think of the long years that 
must elapse before they can atone for what they, 



44 Dreams. 

like Saul, believed to the honor and glory of God, 
and for which the occult Paul was sore distressed. 

So even was I distressed for the blurring of the 
lights that I saw, but he who was sent to instruct 
me said : " Fear not, in the All-Father's time each 
though sorely tried will anchor safe in the beautiful 
harbor of Security." 



CHAPTER X. 

It so happened while I was intent upon the ships, 
I was annoyed by certain dark objects that occasion- 
ally flew past me in the direction of the brilliant 
sun ; and after the Sage had explained to me the 
vision of the ships, I sought to ascertain what these 
annoying objects- were that occasionally obstructed 
my sight. 

Looking toward the sun, to my surprise I found 
that they were bats ; and here was a new mystery ; 
for that ancient enemy of light to fly to the great 
source of light was more than I could understand. 
So to my ever patient teacher, as the bats to the sun, 
I turned for explanation ; but my astonishment was 
such I could scarce give expression to my desire 
and, anticipating me, over his grave and kindly 
countenance shone for a moment the shadow of a 
smile, and he to my unspoken wish gave answer. 

" Those bats that thou dost behold are the super- 
stitions that have in all ages blinded the sight of 
men and cast dark images upon their eyes when they 



Dreams. 45 

sought to turn them toward the great and beneficent 
source of all light and life. But now that sun ariseth 
in majesty and power and shineth from the east 
unto the west and doth penetrate all the dark cav- 
erns which have served them for shelter in ages 
that are past. They are dazzled by its brightness 
and are seeking a place of refuge in their blindness." 
In this age they fly directly toward that glorious 
fount of light, to be absorbed in the great primeval 
source, never to darken and obscure with phantom 
doubts and fears, the hearts and souls of the chil- 
dren of good, when, in ages yet to come, they turn 
trustingly to the All-Father's wisdom and love, as a 
child to its mother's breast, knowing that there it 
shall find solace for all sorrow in abiding love. 

Now all this I had been able to comprehend; the 
interior self was true, Init having dwelt long in the 
caverns of universal customs, although for a time 
delighted with the beauteous thought thus conveyed 
to my mind, yet, as I grew familiar with the 
imagery, the black bats of doubt and fear, together 
with the still more despicable one of scorning, again 
made themselves felt and I said, " I trulv love the 
picture and thy words are as a soothing balm, as a 
crystal fountain in a desert land, and mv parched 
lips fain would -quench their thirst therein, but much 
I fear that this is but a mirage I contemplate and 
soon all these blissful thoughts will, like a huge bal- 
loon, take flight with all their freight of bright an- 
ticipations ; only, like the balloon, escape from its 
moorings, to be dragged in the tall trees of estab- 



46 Dreams. 

lished hierarchy and hurthng down scatter all these 
winged but untledged hopes on barren rock, to be 
trampled under the feet of the giants of intellectual 
wisdom." 

To this my patient friend made answer: " Not 
so my child ; like the captive balloon escaped from 
its moorings they shall indeed take flight, but not as 
the balloon, to be dashed to pieces, but arising higher 
and higher through the fog of unbelief anchor them- 
selves in the farthermost star that scintillates in 
space, sending its waves of light to this thy present 
dwelling place." 



CHAPTER XL ' 

Whilst cjuietly musing one day I heard beneath 
my window strains of martial music and the sound 
of many marching feet, and there passed a great 
multitude, led by gray-haired veterans, bearing the 
scars of many a hard-fought battle and the trium- 
]:)hant banner of victory. Some were erect and 
strong, some bowed down with the weigl'tt of many 
years. After them came those who w-alked with 
the light, vigorous step of youth, with sparkling 
eyes and uplifted heads, eager alike to join the ar- 
mored tilt o.r wri.te a poesy to their loves ; in their 
hearts no doubt or fear but that they would far excel 
in deeds of love or valor the veterans who marched 



Dreams. 47 

before. They were the admiration of those who 
followed them with tlie dancing step of childhood, 
with rosy, dimpled cheeks and curly pates running 
o'er with tales of fairy lore and heroes of most 
gigantic growth, which in the world of every day 
tihey soon will learn have yet no dwelling place. 

The music — it shouted, it challenged, it threatened 
and prayed, wailed, sobbed, dying away, and the 
flags floated bravely on the breezes. Steadily, stead- 
ily marched the multitude, a great resistless sea of 
life. Whither are they bound, and who awaits? 
Then I fain must fall to weeping, so weak a one am 
I that it is ever thus at the bravery of flags and stir- 
ring music of trumpet, fife and drum. My heart 
beats with labored throbbing, my throat swells and 
mine eyes grow blind with tears. I think not of 
the glory of battle, but of the hopes and fears that 
dwell within the breast of each one of the innumer- 
able multitude that are as the sands of the sea, so 
weak and small themselves, yet each one containing 
within himself a world that none may know, to him- 
self the beginning and the end — the whole of life. 

Does that gray-haired veteran remember the fond, 
proud mother who, with quivering lip, sent forth 
her boy to battle for the right, who would rather 
herself have faced the serried bayonets than to have 
seen him go ! Did he come home triumphant, with 
a heart burning to tell her his tale of victory, or, if 
of sore defeat, to wdiisper low, knowing that ever in 
that gentle heart sweet sympathy was found ! May- 
hap to that home returning, the mother slept be- 



48 Dreams. 

neath the sod. Soft hair in silken bands above the 
placid brow and pale hands folded on peaceful 
breast; the flowering tree dropping its snowy 
blooms as teardrops o'er her resting place. A stran- 
ger sits beside the hearth, or the aged sire hushing 
the grief within his heart to welcome home the son; 
yet do they read within each other's eyes the thought 
they wmU not speak. Did that one leave a sweet- 
heart fair and did he find her true, the thought of 
whom lent new strength unto his arm and courage 
to his heart? 

Did he count the moments long as hours that kept 
him from her side, or did he return to find her to his 
rival wed. himself by fickle maid forgot? Nay, 
rather let us hope he found her true, and wedding 
bells pealed merrily and happy hearts were one ; 
that in the bonds of sympathetic love were reared 
true sons and daughters fair. Yet, see, the man is 
old ; and years ago I fear the wife grew weary of 
the march and went to rest, leaving the fond heart 
to winter's chilling blast alone. The sons and 
daughters, too. where are they sleeping? Ah, me! 
there must be manv graves in an old man's mem- 
ory ; and yet he a son may have marching in the 
youthful throng; if so, God grant that he is kind 
and gentle, as well as brave and strong. An old 
man's dreams are of the past, and what lieth before 
but silence and the tomb? Mine eyes are dim with 
weeping : the vision of youth grieves me yet more, 
for I think of the day when they, too, will feel that 
their bright dreams are only dreams ; when their 



Dreams. 



49 



straw houses of high hopes have been scattered by 
adversity's blast and those they most fondly cher- 
ished have been as worthless stubble burned. Oft 
must they feel the keen edge of the sharp sword of 
disappointment ere they come to march like vet- 
erans solemnly and slowly, the visions of youth a 
" dream in the night," and before them only silence 
and the tomb. 

The children, the merry, happy children; how 
many mothers' hands have decked them for the 
march, each deeming her child the fairest, sweetest 
there, counting herself of but little worth if but her 
child can march, by mother's toil, more gaily forth. 
Their joys and tears are mirrored on her heart, yet 
they, too, must tread the thorny path the others 
trod, and many a fall awaits ere they shall reach 
the goal. But the children, oh, the children! with 
tear-wet cheeks and pallid brows! The children 
whose mother's voice is silenced ; with bleeding feet 
they walk the rugged way, and no one cares how 
tired and sad they grow, how weak and faint, how 
soon they fall and are trodden under foot. Not that 
the multitude are cruel, but that each careth for his 
own, and when they gain the battle rank, to walk as 
veterans, what remaineth but unfulfilled dreams, 
silence and the tomb? All is as Dead-sea fruit and 
bitter ashes, and it were better for man had he never 
been born. 

The sound of my sobbing was on the air, and my 
tears were as a flood. Why am I, and why was I 
sent, if this be all? The friend, the faithful friend, 



50 Dreams. 

sought to comfort n\t\ but 1 would not ; so he called 
the white-robed one, and at her coming I was stilled 
and sweet peace folded her wings within my breast, 
and then he that speakest said, " Child, why weepest 
thou? So quickly h.ast thou forgotten the visions 
and dreams and the lessons that they taught ? Thou 
gainest strength but slowly, so long hast thou dwelt 
with the bats in the prison-house. Yet, indeed, if 
this were all, thou doest well to weep, but think 
not one bright dream of purity is doomed to perish. 
In the life beyond this one of apparent disappoint- 
ments they shall find their sweet fulfillment, the 
mother clasp her son, the orphan child forget its 
sorrow's in its mother's sheltering arms, the father 
proudly gaze on his brave boy, all battle-scarred and 
weary, it may be, soiled and footsore, but still his 
child. The fond, true husband and faithful wife 
again in sweet companionship recount the varied 
experiences of an eventful life, and friends, who are 
of a verity friends, shall greet with confiding clasp 
the hands of these whose true friendship they are 
now more capable of appreciating, for there shall 
be nothing hidden from those who seek to know the 
good. 

" The teachers of the race who have given their 
lives for the betterment of others will there be rev- 
ered and loved as the benefactors they are; arid, 
moreover and beyond and above all, every one shall 
be secure and know themselves secure in the father- 
hood of love, and it is written : ' All tears shall be 
wiped from their eyes.' " 



CHAPTER XII. 

My eyes being opened I saw a sea, as it were, of 
most transparent molten gold, that wave on wave 
crested itself beneath a sapphire sky in glorious 
glow, and from out the gates of jasper in the east 
floated a boat of ebony and silver. Black as the 
blackest night, fair as the fairest day, tossing high 
on every foamy billow, safe did it ride. There, 
ensconced in slumber deep, a beauteous child was 
laid. Fair as a sculptor's dream, its rounded limbs, 
so white save glow of tender pink that showed, as 
caught in soft reflection from some crimson rose 
that kissed it ere it slept. Lulled by sweet music 
from some unseen choir, onward floated the tiny 
bark toward the gates of glistening pearl in the west, 
which opened wide to entrance give the floating 
boat. 

Beyond I saw the waves were dark and gray, the 
sky was overcast and luuch feared I for the sleep- 
ing child, that smiled as it slept. Near the outer 
gate it waked and laughed and clapped its tiny, 
dimpled hands, and out on the troubled sea glided 
the boat, untrammeled and alone. Then did the 
waves arise, as if to crush within their angry jaws 
the fragile thing of daring. I did think I never more 
would see the ebony and silver of the boat, much less 
the naked, childish occupant that it sheltered in its 
depths. Not so; after every dark, engulfing wave 
had passed there could be seen, far out at sea, the 



52 Dreams. 

ebony and silver of its trappings. I thought, as 
well as could be discerned at that remote distance, 
that the child had grown graver, and at times did try 
to shield itself from the blustering winds with the 
robes and draperies that fashioned its couch in the 
boat ; yet its face wore a dauntless look, as if it 
knew that it would conquer; truly it had youth and 
strength in its favor, with a look of wisdom far be- 
yond its years, yet did I marvel greatly that its 
guardians or friends should cast it adrift in so frail 
a craft on such a treacherous sea ; also at the color- 
ing of the boat in which thev had placed it. 

Then the voice said, " I perceive that thou dost 
not understand the vision." 

I answered, " Nay, I do not." 

The voice said, " The golden sea and sapphire sky 
are the emblematic picture of the home of the young 
child, whose name is Truth. The boat in which it 
is sent is dark and strong ebony, for dark and 
strong are the storms it must encounter ere it return 
to the celestial land of its birth. The silver, emblem- 
atical of spiritual purity, shall ever gleam brightly, 
however dark the waters or overcast the sky. 

"The child sleeping peacefully betokens that in the 
home of Justice and Love it has naught to fear ; and 
it is naked because it is innocent and knows no 
shame : when it awoke and laughed it was that as 
yet it had known neither grief nor care, and all its 
anticipations were joyous. Yet, as thou didst per- 
ceive, when once it was upon the stormy sea it was 
safe, and the angry threatening waves were power- 



Dreams. 53 

less to engulf it. Though the child had grown grave 
and sought to cover itself with the robes of con- 
servatism from the sharp winds of adverse criti- 
cism, while riding on the dark waters of public 
opinion, yet its face was dauntless and wore a look 
of wisdom far beyond its years. Although the child 
appeared young, it is an eternal verity ; its years are 
from everlasting to everlasting, yet it never groweth 
old, but reneweth its youth in every generation. Its 
wisdom is the wisdom of continuity, which hath 
seen generation after generation, with all their tis- 
sues of falsehoods, pass away and storm waves of 
public opinion grow calm as a sea of glass. 

" The blustering winds of adverse criticism die 
away like the futile wailings of a fretful babe, yet 
withal Truth has been known to cover herself with 
the garment of established custom ; for in this way 
are the more timid ones taught that otherwise might 
have been affrighted and not received that knowl- 
edge which is for their eternal betterment. 

" This is a parable to be comprehended only by 
those who are ready to receive." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

All the morning the sky has hung leaden and 
sullen, and now the drifting rain is driving in heavy 
sheets across the land. As I sit, lonely, at my win- 
dow and watch the storm-caught crowds hurrving 



54 Dreams. 

to their various homes the excjuisite words of Long- 
fellow are borne to my mind : 

"Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall." 

If this be so, how tenderly should we care for 
one another, striving that the sunshine of Love may 
shine through the tear-drops of sorrow, setting the 
rainbow of promise in the sky of the future, even as 
the material sun doth shine through the tear-drops 
of the material sky, forming the rainbow that doth 
tell that the storm is overpast. 

How we should watch to lighten the heavy bur- 
dens of our fellow traveler, yet how little do we for 
one another. 

As I watched the people disappeared, only one 
stalwart man remained, bearing, tenderly shielded 
from the inclemency of the weather, the happy bur- 
den of his child. How trustful and fond the child; 
well may it know itself safe in the haven of the 
loving father's breast, upborne by the strong en- 
circling arms of love. Are we thtis cared for by the 
great overruling power through the tempest of life 
and the sorrows of so-called death, safe, could we 
but realize it, in the shelter of the All-Father's en- 
circling arms and on his loving heart? 

As I mused a vision was given to me. I was look- 
ing from another window, and all the scene was dull 
and blurred ; I thought because the dust had lain so 



Dreams. 



55 



long on the glass within the casement, but I per- 
ceived it was a dull, dismal day, and the fog hung 
sluggish, like a mist, on everything. 

In a slender sapling a song-bird had built her nest, 
and now, as recompense of labor and of love, the 
nest was filled with tiny nestlings; presently the 
wind began to blow, rustled in the tall tree tops and 
bowed the slender sapling, with its nest of song- 
bird's hopes and fears, almost to the earth, and I 
did tremble lest they should be dashed to death, the 
mother and her nestlings. But not one of the fledg- 
lings could I see, save sometimes a timid head was 
visible, but quickly hidden beneath the mother s 
wing. From the trees fell many a broken branch, 
some lusty and strong, able, one would think, to 
withstand many storms such as that the sapling 
bowed before. Many more fragile ones were 
broken from the parent stem and were driven past 
my window. Anon a sturdy tree fell crashing to 
earth, yet the slender sapling and its living freight 
was safe. Presently I saw that the glasses in the 
narrow casement were growing clearer, clearer, still 
more clear, and soon there was no obscurity, but 
they v^ere as transparent crystalline lens for purity, 
so I saw that it was but the fog without that had 
obscured my vision. Little by little that fog lifted, 
and the sun was shining bright and warm. The 
mother and nestlings were safe, and on a fallen tree 
her mate was lifting up his voice in tuneful lay. My 
friend said unto me : 
" Who is mindful of the sparrows' fall is mindful 



56 Dreams. 

of thee, O thou of little faith. The fog is the fog 
of doubt that doth obscure thy spiritual vision. The 
casement and the glass are thy environments through 
which thou lookest. The cleansing, purifying wind 
is the messenger of God, the tree and its branches 
that thou seest broken down are those who have ful- 
filled their time on this sphere, and some in old age 
and some in lusty youth are called hence. The ten- 
der iiranches are those which ' in a short time have 
fulfilled a long time, for age is counted by wisdom 
and not by years.' The sapling and the song-birds 
are those who bow submissive to the will of the 
All-Merciful and in tlie time of destruction are they 
safe. ' Yea, in the \ alley and Shadow of Death 
shall they arise and sing.' " 

My spirit was glad because of the vision, and in 
its exultation arose beyond the vanities of this ex- 
istence. As [ ascended the heavens were beauteous 
with a beauty difficult to describe ; like and yet un- 
like after a night of rain, when a frost comes sud- 
denly and every tree and shrub, tiny leaflet and spear 
of grass is covered with resplendent diamonds. 

Thus it was, and I had reached where stalactites 
of glistening topaz barred my way. I sought to pass 
and would have succeeded, but a voice I loved and 
lost long ago forbade me to enter, saying, " Return 
thou to thy work, which is not yet done." I saw 
not the speaker for the wall of topaz between, but I 
did call in bitterness, " Not so, let me remain " ; but 
I could not pass the bars of light. So slowly, slowly, 
sadly, I returned, and am here; yet, withal, the hao- 



Dreams. 57 

pier for the vision which 1 may not describe, but, 
mayhap, in some glad day, I, too, shall pass the bars 
of most transparent gold and there will greet the 
one whose voice so firmly, sadly, lovingly did send 
me back mv mission to fulfill. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Again I slept and dreamed a dream; mayhap 
not all a dream, who can tell? Out of the earth 
grew a slender spire of living green, with lanceo- 
late leaves as guarding soldiers close around that 
shielded with their glistening bayonets the gracious 
spire that bore aloft a large, white, lustrous flower, 
a lily of exceeding purity. So tall was tlie support- 
ing stem that in this dream I thought its radiant 
beauty reached skies of softest turcjuoise blue that 
bent above, and fleecy clouds paused to admire its 
loveliness. I, most fortunate of mortals, was per- 
mitted to look within the chalice of its fragrant 
sweetness. Therein lay a drop of sparkling dew, 
and as I looked I saw strange shadows come and go 
within its crystal depth until, at last. I saw a laugh- 
ing, happy babe, a human cherub, bright type of our 
humanity. 

Observing closely T did see that it was supported 
by the shapely, tender hands of a most cpieenly 
woman. As the lily among flowers so was this 
most gracious one among her sisters for beautv and 
purity. 



58 Dreams. 

It was given me to know that this was the shadow 
of Motherhood, as the Eternal Good would have it; 
when woman, true to her better self, having put 
under her feet the vain imaginings and licentious 
habits of an ignorant day, shall clothe herself in 
purity and rejoice in the glorious gift that is given 
her- — power to give the sweet, healthy garment of 
materiality, wdierewith to make invisibility visible, 
and to train for this life and all phases of the life to 
come, those immortal spirits that for their better- 
ment sojourn for a short period in the caravansary 
of this our earthly sphere. 

A creative and ecstatic joy is hers to watch unfold 
each day, responsive to her teaching, the beauties 
of the physical and spiritual, until the mighty wings 
of wisdom and mercy are poised for flight to that 
better land, to which the father of spirits shall call 
it at the perfected time. The lily, radiant and pure, 
is the most fitting emblem of that most glorious 
motherhood. 

In the dream I had said, it is not given to all to 
be mothers and co-workers with the Eternal Good 
in perfecting of spirits. All may not know the pride 
and joy it is to see a part of themselves arising 
higher and attaining more and more to that eminence 
which all desire, and with every achievement adding 
new luster to the life of her who has equipped them 
for tiie struggle. 

Again in the dream I was taken to a humble cot, 
where lay one whose days were numbered, and to 
him ministered a woman, one who was not of his 



Dreams. S9 

kindred or even of his people. Siie was patient and 
kind, and with watchful care did she strive for him, 
that the spark of life might gain strength to burn 
yet a little while within his heart. When this proved 
vain, pointing with unfaltering faith to the life be- 
yond and telling of the fatherhood and love of God ; 
so entrancing were the words that methought that 
spiric went forth as to a marriage supper, with ex- 
ceeding great joy. Then in that strange dream the 
walls of that room widened and fell away, and I saw 
the woman, whom I had deemed neither young nor 
fair, had grown exceedingly lovely, and around her 
were many to whom she had ministered in long- 
forgotten years ; but she wist not that they were 
there, for her thoughts were far away in the long 
ago, with a lover, young and brave, who had left her 
v/hen hopes were high, and gone to the land of the 
leal ; of aged parents whom she had cared for ten- 
derly; of orphaned children, whose lives she had 
striven to make less desolate. Indeed the habit of 
sacrifice had become so much a part of her very na- 
ture that it might be said to be the sum and whole of 
her existence. 

Changed again was the shifting picture. I saw 
the robber prowling around the dwelling of the man 
of wealth, and he hated him. for he said, " I am poor 
and what cares he that I sufifer." The poor man 
was vengeful and evil, and he judged the rich man. 
It happened that the rich man was just and right- 
eous, and he sat studying in what way he might help 
his fellow-man and was sore troubled lest, instead of 



6o Dreams. 

helping, ill-considered alms should incite to greater 
evils. Moreover, the man was desolate, for the light 
of his life had gone out, and he was left alone. To 
him came this wicked one, but of his purpose he 
failed; how he failed, it matters not. Enough that 
he failed, and was at the mercy of the man he would 
have despoiled. So be it for himself he cared not, 
but spoke of wife and child, pleading with tearful 
but sullen desperation. The other, hearing with 
doubting, forgave ; and not only forgave, but did as- 
sist him to obtain and maintain an honest living. He 
who was forgiven did strive to be worthy of that 
he had received. 

I also saw poverty sharing its scanty crust with 
other poorer than itself, with the pitiful comradeship 
of sorrow. On the field of battle also, when night 
had come, and the wounded, dying and dead lay 
deserted, wdth only heaven's starry eyes and heaven's 
pitying hosts to witness their last agony, one there 
was among the many, whom the death-thirst was 
upon, gave to his wounded enemy the last drop of 
water in his canteen ; for he himself must die, but 
this one refreshed, might live till dawn and then be 
carried back to life and happiness. 

As I pondered on these visions the heavens were 
opened. There, in greater light and space of paler 
sky, I saw again the lily ; yet not the lily, for it grew 
not on earthly soil, Init was of a more spiritual na- 
ture and floated in space 'mid circling clouds of ten- 
der glow. It was of silver beaten white for luster, 
and bevond and above I saw a crown of thorns. As 



Dreams. 6i 

I looked, wondering, every spiky thorn did change, 
blossoming with white amaranth — flower of eternal 
life. I saw, or did I see, the pale shadow of a fading 
cross? And a voice said, " Behold the emblem of 
the heart compassionate that doth give without 
thought of receiving, and apparently without re- 
ceiving recompense ! Behold there was a great mul- 
titude that praised God for His mercy." 



INTERLUDE. 

In a circular tower on a pinnacle tall, 
Stands a workshop quaint and grey ; 
Where a spinr;ing wheel turned by hands unseen, 
Is spinning a thread for a wonderful web 
With a golden warp, whose magical weaver toils all 
day, 

— and far in the dusky night you may hear the 
sound of the busy loom 'mid the whirl so rife, the 
hurry and life of the warring w^orld and its noonday 
strife. 

At evening grey, when the weary and sad sink 
glad to rest, by labors blest, and in the darkening 
sky of night the sweet new crescent gleams so white 
with many attending stars, you can hear the hum of 
the busy wheel, which is spinning this thread alway. 
Perchance, may catch a glimpse of this wondrous 
web of orient dyes, with sometimes a touch of azure 
skies, sometimes of tender grey, and ever in the 
darkest day a silver thread there gleams alway in 
the mystical web of the wondrous woof, whose spin- 
ner and weaver, alike unseen, are toiling night and 
day. 

Sometimes as I wake and watch by night. 
And long to catch a glimmer slight 
Of this wondrous web of golden sheen, 
With silver thread and orient dyes, 
With a touch of grey or azure skies, 
My heart seems full of singing birds 
That beat at the bars of their cage, 



64 Dreams. 

And they long to lly. with undimmed eye, 
In the broad, bright Hght of day ; 
Singing a song of joy alway, — 

a teiulcr melotly of love ; and hope, mayhap, some 
one among the throng may hsten and catch the tone 
of that song of love and joy and' peace. Hearing it, 
then, may help some weaker one tipon his way that 
he, too, may sing some note of song that vil^ranr 
falls upon the one who helps the struggling and 
helpless here. 

For the spirits a harp of a thousand strings, 
That are touched by angel hands, I ween, 
That quivering, leave their echoes faint, 
Where we shall find them yet again 

in some other land, with, perchance, a music all their 
own, whose gracious sound may wake us from the 
mingled dream of sadness or of joy. For, ever in 
the brightest hour a shadow seems to cling our pris- 
oned spirits round, but when that music sounds 
more clear u]:)on the spirit's wakening ear we shall 
know the song of the singing birds, and see the 
finished mystical web 

With curious hints of orient dyes, 
With a touch of grey or azure skies. 
With silver thread that gleams alway, 

the brightest where the darkest shades fall purpling 
on the golden warp of th.e wondrous web of life. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

I HAD journeyed a long way through populous 
cities, with their pulsing veins of iron and steel, over 
which are carried the vast concourse of people and 
their ever-increasing traffic and merchandise ; where 
the millionaire prince abides in his palace, and the 
tired tramp seeks the shelter of some deserted hovel. 
Each, the rich man and the tramp, complains of his 
weary lot. Presently 1 was much amazed at per- 
ceiving the condition of the inhabitants of this 
strange city to which my journey had brought me. 
They were variously attired, some in gay colors and 
fluttering ribbons, others in filthy garments and tat- 
tered rags. Moreover, they were all sorely afflicted 
with diverse diseases — blind, lame and halt, deaf, 
dumb, and unclean. A blighting leprosy was there. 
I perceived that they divided themselves into clus- 
ters ; those wdio were more congenial the one with 
the other separating themselves from the multitude. 

They talked among themselves, also one of the 
other, the blind saying to the friend who accom- 
panied him : 

" How disagreeable are those who walk by us ; 
that one, how he screams and yells, instead of con- 
versing elegantly and entertainingly : a veritable 
magpie ! " 

" Yes," said the one-armed man, his companion, 
" I tried to walk with him a sort time ago, and it was 
ridiculous the way he kept dragging one of his feet 



68 Dreams. 

after him. Why dcjes hv nut walk uprightly, as I 
do? 1 have no patience with such slothfulness." So 
saying he straightened himself up and looked 
around, as if to say, behold my dignified and noble 
bearing; and wist not that his right arm was 
palsied. 

Then he that was lame said to him that was deaf, 
" Behold that strutting caricature of a monkey. A 
little while ago I asked him to assist me in removing 
a huge boulder that was obstructing our path ; and 
though I laid hold with both my hands, he only ex- 
erted the strength of his left hand — a selfish booby." 

The deaf man made answer, " I asked his friend 
to behold the remarkable fossil I had found, and 
although he turned his eyes towards me he never so 
nuTch as looked at tlie lovely fossil, but winked and 
blinked instead of using his two eyes as God in- 
tended. Now I like a man to look straightforward ; 
it shows he has nothing to fear from the criticism 
of others." Then he said, whisperingly. that he had 
lost his voice. Dost hear that shouting fool? one 
would think some calamity was about to overtake 
him, and his voice was lifted to warn all to flee from 
sorrow to come. Yet, when a short time ago I asked 
him a simple question, in the most courteous man- 
ner, he did not reply to me at all, and although T 
repeated it several times he even made as though he 
heard me not. Such haughty disdain becomes him 
ill. Have I not known, if not himself, his family, 
for manv a year? T would compare favorably with 
anv one of them in social standing. 



Dreams. 69 

The consumptive said of the apoplectic that he 
was a miserable glutton, and should be exhibited as 
a terrible example of that vice. Also the apoplectic 
said of the consumptive that he was an exhibition of 
sloth and mdulgence. 

" See," he said, " what a scarecrow he is. It is a 
shame he has no energy, indulging in idleness and 
sheltering himself from every balmy breeze." 

Neither were the mothers, sisters, wives and 
daughters of these complaining ones a whit better 
than themselves. She with straight and glossy hair 
spoke of her neighbor, with blonde and waving locks, 
as a silly creature who, with unguents, changed its 
hue and then did crisp and torture it with many a 
strange device — a waster of her husband's sub- 
stance and a neglectful mother. I have but little 
time to devote to vanities ; straight-banded hair re- 
quires but little care. My household duties do em- 
ploy me quite. My husband and my children have 
my care. While she of wavy locks did say of peach- 
bloom cheek : 

"Such vulgar color, the rouge-pot from, most cer- 
tainly, my dear. It goeth well with eyes of jet and 
banded hair. A housekeeper I grant; too much a 
keeper — of most waspish tongue. Her children and 
her husband fear her much, and do retire themselves 
to the most cheerless portion of her insufferable 
abode, lest fleck of dust should soil some frippery." 
She who in her carriage rode viewed with contempt 
the one who walked the dusty street, with draggled 
garments and tired feet. She who walked unto the 



7o Dreams. 

other did impute all sins within her calendar ; and 
she of virtue, pure as ice and heart as cold, did scorn 
one who gave her life for love's red wine and found 
but bitter gall; and so she who wasted life did hate 
the other and would kill. 

The children quarreled among themselves ; none 
were wholesome quite, but some blemish did pro- 
ject itself and grieved the sight. I was pained for 
much I feared that I myself belonged among the 
horrid, leprous crew ; for now I did perceive that a 
most venomous dart of adverse criticism burned 
within my heart like that which had been hurled 
most readily by those who bore, safe hidden they 
thought, the most hideous scars ; while others 
never felt the smart of their more dangerous wounds. 
I had seen, whenever they spoke disparagingly of 
one another, it did inflame and aggravate their own 
unhappy state, so I fled swiftly, closing my lips and 
almost stilling my heart. I said within my soul : 

" Fools, idiots, dolts ! Seeing, they cannot com- 
prehend, or hearing, understand ; I will go away 
lest I become as one of them." And there did follow 
me a limping cur ; I hated it. It had been driven 
forth to die, pelted by many a jagged stone and cut 
by many a cruel lash. I hated the unseemly stray, 
yet it did follow me. As I thought with bitterness 
of the people, how they loved me not, I also hated 
them. I felt a burning in my heart, and it angered 
me ; so I sought for somewhat to hurl at that which 
followed me, and then the smart was terrible. I 
knew not what I now should do to ease me. T turned 



Dreams. 71 

to hurl the missile, and it grew a fiery pain ; hot, 
searching, keen; but something in the poor, dumb 
beastie's eyes looked upon me almost as anguished 
human. A sad, imploring, fearful, haunted look, 
although they now grew dim at call of that which 
comes to man and beast alike, and shows, methinks, 
a strange impartiality between the dominant and 
subject animal. As I saw that look my arm fell by 
my side and I reached out my hand to call the crea- 
ture to me. It trembled with a sudden fear of fur- 
ther hurt, and when I by force did seek to bring it 
near it did make as though it would have bitten me, 
but when I laid my hand in kindness on its poor, 
bruised head and gathered soft mosses for its 
mangled form to rest upon and there breathe forth 
the animate of what we call a most inferior mechan- 
ism, albeit it doth contain a curious something that 
has caused it to maintain a strange fidelity to brutal 
master, who doth reward with kicks and blows the 
homage, tiresome grown, this something, too, hath 
called it forth to lie on a dead master's grave in 
piercing blast and pelting rain, and refuse both 
food and shelter. A curious instinct that doth hold 
it there in silent misery, one might think, could soul- 
less thing feel sentiment, until the mechanism of its 
heart is stilled. I staid by this worthless toy that 
no spirit had wath which to part, and so weak had 
grown my mind that I did strive to soothe the strug- 
gle of its silencing. And there did come to it a 
strange majesty within its eyes which, had it been 
of the superior creature, would have been called 



72 Dreams. 

gratitude ; then they grew dim, the pendidum beat 
slower, the machinery stopped. Then did I dig a 
shallow bed and lined it with soft grasses, and laid 
within and covered o'er with leaves and stones the 
remnant of the creature's worthlessness. 

While I had rested here the pain within my 
breast had grown less, but yet with fiery dart would 
burn when I thought upon that strange city and its 
people. I said, " I will not return, but will make my 
aljiding place, at least for a time, within this peace- 
ful nook; here no unseemly sight is seen. Far 
from the haunts of men 1 here will pleasure me." 

Vain thoughts ! As my eyes were turned upon 
the beauties of the rustic scene, a blot upon the land- 
scape there appeared. A beast of burden tethered 
with shortened rope, in burning sun. A horse, with 
staring ribs and hollow temples, a moist displeasing 
object to thus obtrude upon my tranquillity! I hated 
it. Another soulless thing ! Why could not such 
sufficient instinct have to disappear, when useless 
and unbeauteous grown ! Their time was past, eter- 
nal death their portion. That they could suffer I 
would grant; though once that, too, was denied 
them by learned men, claiming that they were 
naught but unfeeling mechanisms. Yet it w^as found 
that lash of whip or prick of spur could quicken 
them to pull and struggle with the burden put upon 
their beastly backs by master man, who generously 
allowed them now a fellow-heritage in suffering, 
toil and death, but could allow no aftermath of bliss 
to such as these. So I looked upon the thing and 



Dreams. 73 

hated it; and as that pain within my breast had 
stronger grown, I restless was, and drew more 
nearly to the beast and thought I now did recognize 
the brute. So I did speak the name I deemed it bore. 
Then the dejected head was lifted up, and, could it 
• be, in recognition and joy, the horse did neigh? 
Such strange tricks I find my fancy plays me in these 
latter years that I did think it so. 

My neighbor in yon city had a steed he reared 
from colthood, as a playmate for his children. Proud 
and high-spirited, yet gentle withal, coming at their 
call and feeding from their hands. Many a tidbit he 
was given, his equine palate to delight, and as he 
older grew did draw abroad a human burden that 
he loved — if he could love ! With naught to vex — a 
pampered pet — save curb or check-rein tightly 
drawn. Thus it was that he older grew within the 
span of a beast's short life. 

One unlucky day the horse stumbled, fell upon 
the paved street and did strain the tendon of his 
shapely leg, the cause — a barbed nail within his shoe 
had pierced him, and thus it was he fell; 'twas sad, 
for the horse desirable had been his master said, but 
now was valueless to him, his elegance of bearing 
gone. True the brute was growing old and tiresome, 
too, in demonstration of attachment ; so he sold him 
to an honest drayman. It mattered little now how 
soon his days were ended by heavy, unaccustomed 
burdens borne. Toil ! Slave ! Suffer ! Die ! For 
this purpose was he created. Could the brute but 
think (a thing impossible) he should be filled with 



74 lh\'ain<:. 

i^ralrfiil inniioric's thai in the' (la\s of slrfiij^lli and 
pride lir was \<v\)\ a prtted ])laylliinj4- hy those 
lie loved and worshiped. The only j^od he knew 
was his master man, and now he was driven onl in 
strani^er's fold lo <lie ! 

The (Ifayman was a worthy man, that earl\ toiled 
and late; and this most stuhhoi-n hrnte did i;;rievc 
him sore. At the very f'lrsl, when to the laden cart 
he was. attached he did refnse to move, or, I should 
say, after the lirst effort he stolid stood, and his 
driver was conipelled to lash him until he himself 
was e\hansle(l (piite and lime was lost. Tlien it was 
most mipleasanl and disi:;nstin_i;- to those who thus 
heheld the necessary lash, so well applied. When the 
heas't (lid start he reared and plunged and most ma- 
liciously did try to hreak the fettering' hold of leath- 
ern honds. Mis destination rt'ached, his ui;lv tem- 
pi'r had hijn so exercised Ihat he Iremhied as an as- 
pen leaf, and nnich his purchaser did fear he would 
escape- hy (lyin<;- ere he L;'ot his money's worth from 
out his worthless carcass — a vicious hrute. Tt was 
thus they s])oke and no nwv thought of untried mus- 
cU's wrenched, but plied the lash and ur^ed him on 
to Iresh t'xertion. /\t ni^ht \\v was ri'warded 1)\' a 
scanty meal. No shelter from the cold or rain had 
ho, that had heeii wont to l)e. for heast, most luxu- 
riously housed. 

The one who sold him heard of ihe strancfc tem- 
per he had late developed, and was qiad he sold him. 
llis new master would soon Hoy- the unruly heast 
into submission, and \et the horse was not used so 



Dreams. 75 

to act in days gone l)y, antl lie himself wt)ulcl have 
thshked nuich \o \)\\ the lash, thongh it essential 
was, for he did renienihei" well the horse's youthful 
days, his pride of carriage and his elegance, for the 
man was tender hearted. 

'Twas true the hrute did grow suhmissive and toil 
and do his new master's hidding day by day ; yet he 
still was given to ((ueer hts of temper, and tried to 
break away betimes until one day it chanced that 
one did see that this did most frequently occur when 
a voice from his old owner's children reached his 
ear in passing by; then he was wont to, vex them. 
Much they were inclined to dwell upon the graces 
and the beauties of the steed they once did hold 
which far surpassed, they oft were heard lo say, 
those they now surpassed. When they were wont 
thus to extol his virtues their friends would say, 
" You must have ])rized him much, where in his age 
doth pasture him that we may go and see this hero 
of the equine race? " 

vSo when this scarecrow thing, with staring ribs 
and bended knees, with most dejected, drooping 
head, would follow, it troubled them. Then would 
the carter yell, " Gee up, ye fool," ply the lash and 
say, " Young gentlemen, one would say the old boss 
knew ye ; yer parding, sirs, the young gent's father 
drove him m.any a year; gee up, ye fool." And so 
it was. he more worthless grew and now was teth- 
ered here to spare his present master the discomfort 
of a quick (b'spatch ; for the new master, like the 
old, was tender hearted, very ! And here the creature 



76 Dreams. 

was to anger me. How strange it was the beast did 
not remove, or like a clock with worn out machinery, 
run down and stop. There surely must be some- 
thing wrong about the soulless thing. I hated it, yet 
I did call the old familiar name, and the horse did 
strive to reach me and came as far as weakened limbs 
and shortened tether would permit. Then I saw that 
not one spear of herbage grew wuthin the space of 
that most narrow round, not one drop of moisture 
there, and fiercest heat did beat upon the spot, 
though not far ofif was running brook, verdure green 
and leafy trees ; T led it there, that feeble thing 
which I now no longer hated, and that sharp smart 
had left my breast. In its place had grown a strange, 
new ache, which this short journey some way helped 
to ease. 

I left the creature there amid grasses green, by 
running brook, nor hurt it with my voice, for could 
it know, it, too, might fear some treachery. Once, 
as it laid its head upon my arm, and I did smooth 
its shaggy coat, I seemed to hear a voice which said, 
" The merciful man is merciful to his beast." 
" Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
mercy." 

Again the voice said, " With what measure ye 
mete it shall be measured to you again. Not a 
sparrow falleth without the Father's notice." 

I no longer hated the soulless beast, but hated 
tyrant man, and thought how shall we then escape 
if we so little mercy show to that o'er which we do 
dominion have; how cry for pity who have shown 



Dreams. 77 

none ? I grew yet more bitter, and I hated man. I 
sought to rest me in the shadow of a giant oak that 
did take firm foothold on the grassy knoH, and un- 
derneath its sturdy branches sheker me from the 
noon-day sun. ]\Iy pulse grows feverish, my head 
doth burn, and I hate, yes, hate, most cruel man. 

Thinkirg after this wise, I sat me down 'neath 
grateful shade of most umbrageous tree. Presently 
there did fan my brow a gracious air that, in- 
breathed, gave a peaceful sense of great refreshment. 
Closing mine eyes I fell to musing deeply, and heard 
a voice, to me long silenced, save in memory or 
dreams. This it said : " Remain, my child, regain 
thy strength; while above thy defenseless head 
stretch out the trusty oak trees' branches strong. 
Yes, rest thee, and grow brave to bear life's battles. 
Here, this lesson learn. I, the oak tree, am that 
which from burning sun and drenching rain would 
shelter thee. But the air is God's air that doth re- 
fresh; and deep inbreathed doth vivify thine own 
interior self from out the well of the Eternal Life. 
Both are good, but better far the air." 

The tree itself could not exist apart from the life- 
given pulse borne upon the air — breath of the All- 
P'ather's love, that doth come to all impartially. 

It befell that as I rested the sky was overcast; 
dark, sullen clouds did pile their purple blackness 
until they did hang, pall-like, oppressing all wait- 
ing life. Now a silence did affright, such as thou 
hast felt before the breaking of terrific storm on 
sultry day; yet no gracious drops of rain did fall. 



7^ Dreams. 

More and more oppressive grew the breath of living 
creatures. I gazed upon the darkened sky while 
an insensate fear clutched at the citadel of life. Sud- 
denly there grew upon the livid blackness a lustrous 
cross, transcendent, pure and white, glowing with 
soft luster like lucid pearl. 

From east to west, from north to south, in splen- 
did beauty, amid solemn silence hung the symbol of 
that divine compassion, full and free, of the All- 
father's love as shown to thee and me. In. silence 
and amaze I looked and hushed my heart's tumultu- 
ous throbbing, lest it a sacrilege should be. 

Slowly, slowly, the radiant cross withdrew, 
softly fading into the central heavens, but from 
within and through the ragged edge of the rent veil 
of cloud beamed glorious light, transcending far the 
light of star, or moon, or sun. Yes, in that light 
paled all their splendor, as the torches' feeble glow 
in the blaze of midday sun. Yet this light so full, so 
soft, so pure, so white, did not oppress my sight, but 
rather fell with soothing on the spirit self. So T 
looked and longed and wept : for all around, save 
where the cross in majesty withdrew, still rolled the 
clouds of darkest hue ; but there the soft, pure light 
was streaming through, and it seemed as if a 
shadow dark did form itself upon my very heart ; 
the spirit self did grieve, for the cross — the cross to 
which I clung in storm and tempest blast — was 
gone, gone into the very highest heaven where I 
could not follow it, and left but that glory streaming 



Dreams. 79 

through rent veil of cloud as though its very shad- 
ow formed itself to light. 

So I wept and wept and strained my tear-dimmed 
eyes, and did see, forming softly, stilly, as had pass- 
ed the cross from sight, dawning clearer, clearer, 
forming in that light as though it did enfold within 
itself the spirit of that light, a dove with outspread 
wings of silvery luster, coming, coming from the 
innermost height of that great light, until it floated 
just within the veil of darkness that the cross had 
rent when it passed through, and waited, eager, yet 
with the patience that doth know naught of time, 
but great eternity. So it did wait ; and I who dwelt 
in time — I waited, too — and on my spirit fell a sense 
of weakness and I hid my eyes and whispered low, I 
am not worthy, Lord, this sight to see ; too dull, too 
sad, for I have said to sorrow, thou my mother art; 
to grief, my sister thou. Disappointment waiteth on 
my footsteps, and doth sup with me. 

'As I spake a voice did say, "Look thou again, and 
see." 

Lo, on a sullen pool, on sodden ground, where 
many a leaf had fallen and in its transit of decay had 
blessed the darksome mould, a plant, green and vig- 
orous did catch the light with leafy hands and there 
unfold a lily pure with golden chalice, and did fill 
with floating sweetness all the slumberous air. Then 
came to me a voice which said, "What is that to thee 
if so the gardener choose to lay the germ of that 
so fair in darksome place? Why doth it trouble 



8o Dreams. 

thee? And if of sorrow's cup thou oft hast drunk 
the bitter lees, grieve not ; within some garden sweet 
thou yet shalt find thy treasure rare, safe shehered 
from the cruel winds that blow across the arid plains 
of more material life." 

While I listened there came around me and did 
press me sore, dumb creatures with pleading eyes. 
Then the voice did say, "What hatest thou?" I 
said, not these, not these. Then said the voice again, 
" What hatest thou ? "' I answer made, not tnee, 
oh friend, not thee ! Then came a voice, sweet, 
sweet as dew distilled within freshly blossomed hon- 
eysuckle cup, beneath morning sun on mossy hill ; 
and it did say, " I will abide with thee ; what hatest 
thou?" I said the people in the city I did leave, and 
I do well to hate. Sad came the voice, " I will abide, 
abide with thee." T cried, I know thee new! But 
still thy radiant face is hid. thy form I cannot see, 
and yet 1 know thou art that guardian one to whom 
God giveth me. 

Low came the voice, " I will abide, abide with 
thee." 

Refreshed I then arose and journeyed on ; and 
what was strange to me those dumb creatures did no 
longer me annoy, and soon did disappear, save one ; 
a ringdove some archer shot in wanton sport did fall 
within my lap ere I had left the shelter of the tree. 
Its timid mate was left with nestlings three, and 
long its voice did follow me cooing, cooing mourn- 
fully. So the more I hated man who did disturb 
Nature's calm serenity. Now my mood did change. 



Dreams. 8i 

I sought for gold; for in these hills I had been told 
was many a vein of precious yellow metal. 

Though the skies were blue and fields were fair, 
and honey-bees were gathering- sweets amid the 
deep green grass from crimson-tinted clover, 
their drowsy hum came like mellow music 
to the ear, I heeded not and cared not for 
such scenes and dreams of rest and sweet 
content, but pressed on toward the rugged 
mountains in search of gain. I said, much wealth 
I will amass and then return to that city that I left, 
and will show to them their most conremptible es- 
tate; their spitefulness and greed; will tell them 
of their slanderous tongues and selfish lives. Also 
how they do abuse those poor dumb creatures God 
has given into their care. I'll score them well and 
they dare noit gainsay, for I'll have wealth and 
wealth is power. Besides is it not well that they 
should hearken, for have I not advanced beyond 
their feeble knowledge ; a most despicable and ig- 
norant crew. I'll none of them, but hold the mir- 
ror to their faces that they may see themselves con- 
temptible ; and hate that image as I now hate them. 
A kindly deed it were in one so far advanced as I, 
thus to return to let them see they should be noble, 
pure, and good, like — why, yes, like me ! 

I would not have one of their children lay ca- 
ressing hand on me. I hated them. As I mused 
and vaunted thus a dizzy faintness overcame my 
strength, and then it was I found that o'er my heart 
that spot that pained me sore, had puffed up livid 



82 Dreams. 

and dark, as though a most mahgnant humor had 
settled there. Ah, pity me! too long I dwelt with- 
in the walls of the accursed city. Ah ! woe is me, 
I cried, staggered and would have fallen but that 
I came in contact with a shocking thing — a sleeping 
babe in gaudy, tattered, mantle wrapped, and — well, 
the tale is told ; its father's name was Treachery ; 
its mother's Shame ; be sure, an outcast brat from 
that great city vile ; I hated it. 

Although I would that I were far away, I found 
I needs must stop awhile for I grew faint. Then 
to turn my mind from mine own grievous state, I 
looked upon the child and thought upon its fate. A 
mother — well, perliaps not all unfeeling. The cloak 
had told that she had stripped herself to clothe the 
child. Then, too, she might have rid herself of the 
unwelcome one — such arts are practised — ere it 
breathed, a living child. A wanton woman? Well, 
perhaps, an orphan girl fair of face and weak of 
mind, hungering for love thus betrayed where most 
she trusted. A wanton ? May be so ! All her life 
denied the luxuries for which she had longed. 
Looked on and scorned for poverty, and in mad mo- 
ment, sold the heritage of virtue for promise easy 
broke, for so the tattered garment told. She now 
had gone back to the city, a wicked, vengeful thing ; 
I hated her. 

The father? Ah, well! there is such different 
judgment for the two. How so? Not the great 
God before; well, in that city then! It were a little 
thing to break a trusting woman's heart and send 



Dreams. 83 

a hapless child into the world to be jeered at, may- 
hap by its own brethren. A little sowing of wild 
oats, a thing to smile about and slyly joke. He may 
be married to the daughter of a most distinguishell 
potentate within the city walls ; so slight a fault, 
so light man's virtue held. Moreover, who could 
tell ? No doubt the woman lied, a brazen thing like 
all her kind ! A pity, all would say, his life's bright 
prospect wrecked by such an one. How I hated 
him ! The babe moved and moaned in its sleep. 
Perhaps my fixed gaze did it disturb. Poor hapless 
one, and should I visit on thy feeble self and hate 
thee for thy parent's sins ! 

This life has bitter lessons for us all. even the 
more favored ones. These must thou learn, and 
bear as well the heritage of scorn thy father gave. 
All will ready be to think thee vile ; however, so 
thou doth strive to grow to honor and esteem, by 
virtuous deed and goodly life, there is none will have 
it so. I hate thee not. thou desolate, and I will take 
thee up and keep thee until the All-Father, the 
great Good, shall call thee to his justice merciful. 

I took and held within my arms that outcast child 
and it looked up into my face and smiled and laid 
its hand upon my breast, just o'er my heart where 
most it ached ; and strange to say. it pained me 
not ; and as I soothed its eyes to slumber I could 
hear the drov/sy bees yet humming in the nodding 
crimson clover. 

The voice said, "What hatest thou?" I said, 
not this, nor bird nor beast, but the people, the 



84 Dreams. 

people of the city. Sad was the voice that said again, 
" I will, I will abide with thee." 

Kind friend, thou niay'st not care to learn what 
befell the outcast child and nic. If thou dost, the 
child did gro\V in grace; fair of face and strong 
of limb, and with many a winsome, childish art did 
ofttimes win my heart from sorrow; and, truth to 
say as often wrought the other way and added to 
burdens heavy. Of strange, wayward, reckless tem- 
per, was the child betimes ; again, dreamy, moody, 
silent; most difficult to understand, and of all coun- 
sel ofttimes more than careless. Then came re- 
pentance sw'ift, with smiles and tears, and clasping 
childish hands, and piteous lisping pleadings; and 
oft I thought, poor little one, should I cast thee off 
who else will undertake to train the thorny rose 
within thy spirit's garden, to blossom sweet? Yet 
sad, discouraged oft, I mused, it is all in vain ; 
what profit I with all my toil? True, mother's love 
is sweet ; to strive for one's own child is but to 
strive for one's own self in other form, and in their 
gain and glory they too are glorified. Mother's 
love is pure and shared alike by human kind and 
beast. 

What is that to me, the child is none of mine; and 
should she grow to lovely womanhood the mother 
that did cast her off may claim her by the tie of kin- 
dred and I be left alone ; no recompense for sacrifice 
of years, or may not claim her gracious wavs as 
mine. Then would come that childish face wath 
troubled look, and for comfort in my bitter mood 



Dreams. 85 

the child would place within my hand a withered 
flower or treasured broken toy. Smile I would lest 
tear of pity flow for childhood desolate. Then the 
little one would sing for joy to see the shadows 
flee and life pursue the old accustomed tenor of its 
way. 

As she grew in years I did again renew my in- 
tercourse with the vast world of people, for the 
maid needs must learn to perfect herself in devious 
ways and many arts, and thus gain a knowledge 
to m.aintain her prestige in this life of strife. With- 
in the city I myself would venture never, and I 
hated — yes, I hated — the people; but the maid was 
sweet-natured and loved as I hated the people. She 
said they were beautiful, kind, and good — the peo- 
ple of that city to which I would not so much as 
turn my eyes. Once she told me of a lovely lady 
who had taken her in her arms and kissed her, 
while great tears did fall upon her face, and she 
did show to me a golden locket this one had placed 
within her hand and it contained the image of a 
charming face not unlike the maiden's. 

She said : " Now, dear friend, she is no more — 
dead, and all were glad; none were sorry." " Was 
it because she suffered so? "' she questioned me. I 
could not tell, for I had hated her. Still, the maid 
went in and out the city, and learned lessons strange 
and new to me. Once she did return with lips that 
quivered pitifully, and tear-dimmed, wide-opened, 
wondering eyes, and told that she had found a 
man, weak and old, sitting by the wayside, and re- 



86 Dreams. 

freshed from out her stores his most pathetic feeble- 
ness; how he touched her hair with trembling" hand 
and said, " This golden hair and eyes of blue do 
have a look strangely familiar to me, like one I 
knew that loved me once; but I was false if she was 
true." 

" How well I can recall those bright hours, though 
years have traced their footprints fast between those 
days and this sad time." How I hated him ! Then 
my maid most mercifully did say that strong men 
came and dragged away to barred cell the lunatic 
they called dangerous in his lunacy. She learned 
that he had been a man of influence and wealth 
witbm the city; had married, late in life, a woman 
who cared not for him but much for gold. Their 
children scorned him in his feebleness, for they too 
cared not for anything but gold. 

Tliey proclaimed him imbecile and placed him 
within a prison's walls. The while high revelry was 
held with his most treasured gold. He was prating 
ever of Miriam and her child. Who was she? 
Some did say a figment of a shattered mind. How- 
ever, there were those who said : " Nay, nay, I 
once did hear of one, a lovely woman to whom he 
was betrothed and was by him betrayed, left with 
her child (to strugg-le for shame's bitter bread." 
How I pitied her ! " The child — no one could tell 
what had befallen it. The woman in the city dwelt 
for years, a terror and a scorn, and died at last by 
her own hand, to the great relief of all good per- 
sons." 



D reams. 87 

When I heard the story, the more I hated all the 
people of the city; yes, and hated that old man 
more than them all; yet, now one word did form 
itself within the darkness of my mind — ^that word 
was. recompense ; and I no longer hated. But no 
more did I let go niy sweet maid to the city. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

It happened once that I had been told, just when 
or where I could not tell you, of a beautiful garden 
where there grew all manner of lovely flowers and 
jewels of the flora! kingdom. It was said that the 
owner of the garden was most generously inclined ; 
he never had been known to refuse entrance to any 
who desired admission, even though they might be 
travel-stained and weary, poor, sick, or afflicted — 
all were equally welcome to its restful arbors. I 
knew not how that nught be, but I did know only 
this, that I hated the city and all the people where- 
soever I might meet them ; but it did appear as if 
I could escape them never ; for now. when my Fe- 
licia and I were walking most leisurely along, en- 
joying the peaceful scene of rural beauty, the quiv- 
ering air \\'as rent and there did come sounds of 
most unseemly discord. Within a dainty cottage, 
such as one might dream would shelter love and 
sweet content, were seated two. a man and woman 
old in vears, and one would hope that after they had 



88 Dreams. 

passed the summer of their lives, and autmnn 
weather grew quite ch'eary — for winter's coming 
was so near — th.at they in blissful true companion- 
ship would dwell, and often would remind each other 
of the days gone by, of the trials they together bore, 
of joy and pleasures shared; would think of the 
faces they could picture of kindred and of friends in 
days of old, of births, marriages, and deaths; would 
speak of graves that they had stood beside, when 
falling clod on coffin-lid told that earthly toil was 
over ; when mortality was laid aside, and the eman- 
cipated spirit freed from fettering garb that had 
become too small and worn to longer clothe the ego 
struggling to attain that for which it was from the 
beginning destined — the fetters broke to soar aloft 
as butterfly from chrysalis. 

No such themes did they enjoy, but did reproach 
each other until the very air was thick and black 
with lamentations. For some time it was impossible 
to disentangle the black and scarlet of their strong 
upbraiding; but at last the woman, exhausted with 
vociferous exertion, ceased for a moment's space. 
The man's tremulous voice then became more aud- 
ible, as he his story told. 

I did hate — yes. hate — them, and would not have 
sto]:)ped to liearken to their calumnies, had not the 
old familiar pain now stung me sharply. So it was 
I needs must stop and, as I rested, hear, perforce, 
their stories. The man spoke first and, sad to sav, 
his theme was still the old, old story (the woman 
did it). He ?poke of struggling, toiling, childhood. 



Dreams. 89 

How he ever strove to elevate himself and gain a 
higher round in life's scale of honor and of opulence. 
He gained eminence among his fellow men. A 
leader he in a generation past which did breed men 
strong of mind and body. He also won and wed the 
village belle. Beautiful of face was she and light 
of foot, no sweeter voice than hers was heard among 
the sweet-voiced maidens in the village ; and said 
the old man, with yearning tenderness at the mem- 
ory : " I opine that in all her ways there was 
no one more winsome than my Alary. Now look 
upon that scowling face, and didst thou hear her 
shrill voice when you came in but now ?" Sweet 
voice and winsome way ! Ah, truly, yet as I did say, 
in those days it was not so ; and well she knew a 
wom.an's place in due submission to her husband's 
wdll. 

No usurper of man's divine prerogative was she. 
as those who in the present day do fret the public 
ear and so assert themselves that I am 
told they struggle to have at least a rep- 
resenting in the laws that govern this our 
land. A woful thing; it is well that I will 
be gone before this great calamity shall overtake this 
free and glorious country. Then he shook his head 
most dismallv as if it were more than he could con- 
template in placid humor. I hated him ; and to re- 
call the subject of our discourse then did say, your 
wife — we were speaking of your wife. " Well, ves, 
I did tell ; she to her household duties did attend, and 
also many children bore. She, as was her duty as 



90 Dreams. 

the weaker vessel, did not question my will or way 
in anything ; but recognized my most divine author- 
ity as was wise. No neater, cleaner home, or better 
table set than ours in all the country. Many guests 
were welcomed there for 1 was called wise, and they 
came to consult me on questions of importance. 

As a good wife should, who glorified in her hus- 
band's honor, Mary did attend their needs and all 
did praise her courtesy and skillful cooking. I will 
say most cheerfully did she entertain, although I do 
remember now that when our babes were small, 
sometimes she spoke of being very weary and did 
wish for time in which to become acquainted with 
her children, that she might help them to choose 
their life's vocation. 

I told her that her duty was to bear and nurture 
them, I myself, would attend to the business they 
should follow, these were our sons. Should they 
dare to cavil at my wise appointing I would know 
how to deal with such insubordination in the home 
where I was the law-giver and the master. 

Concerning our daughters, I was indulgent, very. 
If they were like their mother, I was well content. 
In one thing only would I exercise my due authority. 
They should marry men of mine own choosing. Re- 
garding that I would be firm and they could trust 
their father to choose well among his friends and 
acquaintances. I told my wife she need not trouble 
regarding their welfare, provided she but did her 
duty and taught them to respect their father's 
wishes. 



Dreams. 91 

In this I was sadly disappointed as you will learn. 
Now with shrill voice and clamorous tongue their 
mother doth upbraid me as cause of all their sorrow. 
It has often been said of inconsistency — Thy name 
is woman. This I now do know. 

As if my griefs were not enough, those I hoped to 
bear my honored name with glory and distinction 
have gone to their untimely graves in infamy and 
shame ; and I must now endure this most discordant 
railing from one who, had she cultivated her intel- 
lect instead of wasting precious moments in idle 
gossip, could have reared brave sons and daughters 
fair to solace our old age, and herself have been a 
companion to me, in the true meaning of the word." 

The wife said, scowling darkly, " Companion I? " 
What of her, that painted courtesan with whom you 
did consort until she cast you off for men of fuller 
purses and younger years? " Companion I? " The 
old man answered, " It is true I do acknowledge, 
and thus it came about. I toiled earnestly and wil- 
lingly for wife and children, for you see I loved 
them. None can say that I did grudgingly 
provide or saved myself through weary years, 
if so be I could minister in all ways to 
their comfort. I was ambitious, and did strive 
to gain an eminence among my fellow men, 
and I did gain that for which I strove, 
then came to her. my wife, for sympathy. I sought 
to tell to her my plans and wishes, longed to take 
her with me that she might share the honors that 
were gladly given me by those who knew my worth. 



92 Dreams. 

She did not care to go, she was weary, or some 
household duty claimed her time. Besides, those 
prating women we should see whom she despised. 
They talked of books and nnisic, had what they 
called New Ideas, and did try to make themselves on 
an equality with men. For her part, she would 
rather talk with one who knew her place and could 
concoct a toothsome dish, or give a recipe for some 
new pickle. As for me I had not been wont to talk 
such nonsense as I did of late ; my folly vexed her 
sadly. Then she would tell a new cure for colds, 
for Mary was a famous nurse ; kind, gentle, tender, 
and did know just where the mustard's soothing 
smart would heal a piercing pain. A cure for colds 
forsooth ! My very heart was cold when I knew she 
did not comprehend aught of that in which I hoped 
to interest her. I would have been pleased could I 
have found a caustic to arouse her dormant facul- 
ties. 

Another thing; I saw her face that had been 
wont to be so comely wore now the old and haggard 
look of one who had toiled far beyond her strength 
and had passed many sleepless nights. I could not 
account for this ; there had been nothing to employ 
her time except simple household duties and care of 
our children. It did appear that in idleness and 
slothfulness she must have passed much of her time 
so far as the cultivation of the rich treasures of her 
mind required mental industry. 

It was a cruel blow when I found so little sym- 
pathy, for I loved both wife and children. I could 



Dreams. 93 

find outside my home those who did understand and 
appreciate my worth. One especially, younger by 
many years than I, but of most brilliant mind, whose 
every word did answer to my thought as answers 
the reflected image in the mirror to those who look 
upon its polished surface. I sought her often foi 
she voiced my very self. 

Caught by the witchery of smiles and subtle flat- 
tery I thought I loved her and for a time forgot my 
allegiance to my faithful wife and to our children 
who were now but grief and sorrow to me. Ap- 
probation's honeyed tongue lured me into the dark 
ways of forbidden pleasures ; too late I learned my 
folly. The depth of thought I did conceive as 
answering to mine own. was indeed as the reflection 
on the polished surface of the mirror — a glittering 
mockery ; echoing sounds ; and w'ords of approba- 
tion flowed as swiftly toward any source that did 
supply the golden lining for her treasury. A strong 
disgust did fill my soul and I did grieve that I had 
wasted my manhood's prime with one so trivial. 

Then it was I said, 1 will return to her with whom 
I know truth doth abide. For ever in my heart in all 
my wanderings did live in love the image of the one 
whom I did wed. It is true w^e had drifted far from 
each other and I held her the guilty cause of much 
of my weakness ; for had she striven she might have 
been my counselor and friend, as well as wdfe, and 
had not given to our children such distempered 
minds as led to acts whose strange wilfulness could 
find no counterpart in either father's or mother's 



94 Dreams. 

lives ; for in her younger days, ere sloth had grown 
rank weeds begot by ignorance, there was no keener 
wit or brighter thought amid all our friends than 
Mary's. I said, I will tell her all my folly ; how I 
came to stray afar for that companionship on the 
wide plane of knowledge, that I could not find with 
her whose mind was elsew^here turned. Also the 
bitter disappointment that I felt in the children 
whom she had taught, did drive me farther from 
what should have been my resting place, my home. 
Mary thus shall learn her fault and I know will wel- 
come me with due contrition; for she was ever just 
of. mind and lenient ; and moreover she was trained 
in those past days, when wisest thought did claim a 
woman's highest duty was to submit in all things to 
her husband's larger mind, to employ herself with 
that which did most minister to his comfort: Thus 
did my wife ever strive apparently, to serve and it 
doth trouble me to understand the bitter aftermath 
of latter years. 

It was with strong repentance I did return to her 
whom I still loved with all my truer self, and I did 
say, " Although discouragement brought by thy 
lack of wisdom has led to this, I will forget your 
faults if you forgive the errors to which those faults 
in you have driven me. Again we two will our love 
renew and trv to strengthen the poor shattered walls 
of this our .ater home ; so at least the bitter breath 
of cold adversity may leave us in peace for the sad 
remnant of our withered years. But behold this 
woman whom I did picture as in my youth, sweetly 



Dreams. 95 

acquiescent to my will, did break forth in strong 
reviling and cry out, she cared naught since all she 
loved was lost. I brought her here from out the 
city that none should hear her ravings. In this one 
thing I fear I was to blame ; I did not know the 
woman's mind so weak and incapable of reasoning. 
1 will strive to care for the poor creature until with 
gladness I shall lay the disappointment of all my 
toiling years low in the dust." 

Thus speaking the old man bowed his head with- 
in his hands in the dreary sorrow of old age, then 
said : " \ es, listen if you will, to causeless ravings 
of her disordered mind. Mayhap it will comfort 
her. Then I did pity him whom I had thought to 
hate and hated her who now approached and sought 
to speak. I had too little patience with the babblings 
of a disordered mind. She said : " You are a 
woman and will understand ; none other could. 
Mine was a happy childhood — sheltered by a kind 
father's care, watched by a mother's tender love. 
There I was happy; oh, so happy! and happiness 
doth bear such precious unguents within her reper- 
tory that many called me fair. You will not cry me 
shame for pride in those past years when you look 
upon this bended form, wrinkled face and v^hitened 
hair. It was also said in that far time that I was 
sweet of nature and quick of mind, though there be 
those wdio deem me otherwise at this late day. Ah 
well ! this I know, I loved all both great and small, 
and to all trusts was faithful. Ever most diligently 
did I strive to learn all those humble arts that then 



96 Dreams. 

was thought a woman's ckity ; and it was said I did 
attain to excellence in all gentle ways that minister 
to pleasures of the table, or maintained the joys of 
home. Ever as I wrought I dreamt of some glad 
day when one should come to whom my woman's 
heart should turn in loving trust. At dewy eve when 
the pale moon looked down and bathed the sleeping 
world in mellow light, then would I pray, Sweet 
Luna, thou wdio it is said doth rule all women's 
destiny, send thou to me some dream of him, that 
future lover, whose smile shall brighten e'en the 
darkest night that life may know ; and at morn when 
golden sunbeams softly filtered through the snowy 
drapery of my flower-wreathed window, and waked 
me to the world of beauty. I would say. Oh day so 
bright and fair, and dost thou bring to me the sun 
of all my day? Oh happy singing-bird on fragrant 
blossoming bough, by morning breezes lightly 
swung, that doth pour forth from happy throat 
liquid music's voice of thanks for mate and 
fledglings tiny! Not more glad your song than 
mine shall be in those bright future hours, 
when we, my husband and heart's king and 
1, shall build hope's castles fair above the cradle 
of our cherub pledge of love. That brought by 
God's ow^n messenger is trusted to our care that it 
might learn the lesson that the spirit needs must 
have missed had it remained within the crystal ele- 
ment of life in God's own fold where every child 
has birth, so we are told, ere it fluttereth forth to 
find its earthly garment. Friend, you may see in 



Dreams. 97 

all this dreaming there was naught of sense or 
shame, only love — love pure and untainted from the 
fount of God's own love ; and being a woman you 
can understand the dreaming. How that dream 
hath ended I will tell ; then you will know the 
Marah of all my bitterness ; whence doth flow the 
water of my living now. 

*' From far off time of idle dreaming, I wear on 
my heart one shadow that brings sorrow to my mem- 
ory now. That was mine own scorning of my elder 
sister who dwelt unwed within my father's home. 
Altogether I was not to blame, for in that time one 
who had passed beyond the sunny milestone of her 
life, unwed, was subject fit for taunt or sneering 
ridicule, for had she not failed in woman's mission ? 
Her duty it was, by all the artifices known to her 
sex, to gain a husband ; little matter how ungainly 
he. Better that than spinster life. 

" Having won the man, her pleasure then to make 
herself subservient to his wishes, to echo back his 
word as echoes the shrill parrot in its cage the 
voice it hears — to bear him children and to be her- 
self the mouthpiece of the great ruler of their home ; 
happy if having fulfilled that required with dili- 
gence, she might win admission at heaven's gate and 
live a faint memory shadow of their father's will 
within her children's hearts, when she herself, with 
meekly folded hands above a pulseless breast would 
lay down her tired heart and weary brain, within an 
early grave to rest. All this, Salome, my elder sis- 
ter knew and heeded not. Thus she became, as I 



98 Dreams. 

have said, a subject for the foohsh scorning of mine 
ignorance. Serene did she pursue her way. Her 
tender hand in latter days made soft the pillow of 
our dying sire, and did pluck the thorns of care 
from our mother's brow in her widowed years. She 
cared for our wounded brother, when from the bat- 
tle came he home to die, and did add many busy, 
useful years to his erstwhile broken life. She did 
rear the orphan children of a friend to lives of brave 
deeds and noble works. She it was, who robed in 
snowy garmjents for their last sleep, mine own 
sweet blasted buds from off the tree of life. 

" When full of years and kindly deeds she laid 
her down in peace to sleep, a haunting smile was on 
her lips as though her eyes in passing glimpsed fair 
paradise. Her ears had heard the words, ' Well 
done, come thou up higher.' All the village people 
wept and said that they a friend had lost ; and most, 
I think, forgot that she had missed her mission, that 
her life was not well rounded out as wife and 
mother. 

" Now methinks that there be many wives and 
mothers ; but few friends in life's more homely 
needs, such as Salome, my spinster sister. 

" But I have wandered far from the ever-varying 
story of my life. You will excuse, but of late it 
hath troubled me to know whether I or Salome 
failed in woman's highest duty. I have grown this 
shrill-voiced, fretful, scolding thing that now you 
see ; in this a faithful picture of my husband's words. 
Why it Is so he cannot understand and that doth 



Dreams. 99 

vex me more than all things else. My children — ah, 
me! I will tell, and sister woman, thou canst see if 
I have aug-ht to grieve or trouble me. 

" One gala day when spring did wear her velvet 
robe of glowing life, but just escaped from chilly 
winter's fettering grasp, and when all the little rills 
did laugh, with happy gurgle, glad from icy bond- 
age to be free, there to our village came a youth with 
fbon hair and darkly glancing eyes; one who bore 
himself as born a king among his fellows. Strong 
and brave, yet with gentle courtesy. Tall and 
straight, broad shouldered too. None would dare 
to anger him by word or deed, for quick was he to 
avenge an insult or an injury. A maid might trust 
him and, feel safe as in her father's loving care ; for 
he was true, and she would find no trust betrayed 
by him. He was one of nature's noblest mould of 
noble men. A happy, happy day I deemed it when 
fell his choice on me, a simple village maiden. How 
I loved — nay, worshiped him ; for was he not to me 
the sum and whole of all existence ! " 

As she spoke, the old man, grieving, said, " Had 
you spoken in this manner at that time, I would not 
tlien have strayed so far from the dear old home that 
sheltered us." 

The woman replied, " If so, I was to blame. To 
you it is known I was taught not to express myself 
on any subject openly, it would have been consid- 
ered most unwomanly. Now my age hath given me 
license." Then she continued: 

" One happy day we two were wed. The village 

LofC. 



loo Dreams. 

children strewed our path with por'es. We were 
the pride of all our friends, and bv them loved sin- 
cerely. 

" Reginald had Iniilt a pretty cottage, and we 
with care had furnished it as was our pride and 
pleasure. Sweet roses clustered around the rustic 
doorway and by its step so lowly. Blue violets and 
mignonette, spice pinks and lavender, did breathe 
their prayers in odors sweet around our cottage 
holy. Adown the path on either side were holly- 
hocks, like sentinel soldiers standing. The sun- 
flower too, did turn its head to catch the light on 
every golden petal, and poppies there did flaunt their 
blossoms ruddy. So peaceful was our home that it 
was like a restful haven to all who came within its 
borders. Aly husband's love was mine arid I did 
trust him truly ; life was full of joy and hope with- 
in our humble cottage. There was born our eldest 
son ; there too, our sweetest daughter. The boy was 
like his father with ebon hair and eyes of jet; yet it 
was said he had my features. It was my heart's de- 
light to watch his gentle ways when playing with 
his lovely sister. Her hair was flaxen, her eyes as 
blue as the summer sky above us. She had many a 
happy, winsome way so tender and so loving. She 
has gone to another world — ni}' love child — broken- 
hearted. She dared to brave her father's will and 
wed the one her heart had chosen. Her father 
would forgive her, never; and for this she grieved 
and mourned ; for to him in all else she was his 
most loving daughter. Soon death did claim the 



Dreams. loi 

husband, and when her babe was born she bowed 
her head Hke the snow-drop in the storm, and went 
to rest forever. 

"The boy yet hves; and strange to say, is now our 
only solace. He d'wells within the city walls but 
often he comes hither to see what may be done for 
our comfort and our pleasure. I would be pleased 
if you could see the boy so brave and handsome. 

" Our eldest son was a strange child ; he was 
dreaming ever. Strange questions he would ask 
m.e, ' Mother, what makes the sky so blue, where the 
stars like gold dust sparkle? Was it God that paint- 
ed the butterfly's wings, and are they like a baby 
angel's?' He would talk by the hour to a tiny 
flower and sing songs about the posies. He was very 
fond of all living things, would mourn over a bird 
with a broken wing like any fond, true lover. This 
boy, his father said, should be a soldier. It would 
cure him of his foolish trick of dreaming. Yet he 
the boy to college sent, and was very fond and 
proud of him for he was studious and did excel and 
won many coveted honors. At last they dis- 
agreed; the lad would not be a soldier. Harsh 
words then followed quickly and our Richard went 
sailing across the water. After this his father for- 
bid that Ave should speak his name within our house- 
hold circle. 

" Not long ago to me there came one who brought 
a treasured token ; and he said. ' He whom all men 
delight to honor sent this and said to tell you some 
day I will return; my loving, patient mother!' 



I02 Dreams. 

Sometimes I see that his father scans books and 
papers very closely and I find a mark that he has 
made where our son's name was written ; for he has 
gained both praise and fame in the land to which he 
went a rover. 

" Had I other children? Yes, there were brothers 
twin, a charming younger daughter, and other little 
ones who have gone to live beyond death's silent 
river. Sad to say, I was so busy, tired and worn, I 
had but little time to know my younger children. 
My husband has said he was ambitious. I for him 
was ambitious also, and before the younger sons 
were born we did strive, mind and body, to gain 
wealth. We deprived ourselves of many things 
that even health required, so eager were we to amass 
the golden treasure. 

" At that time I did suffer much for luxuries your 
woman's wisdom will tell you I often craved most 
sadly. Though I must a strict accounting give, 
sometimes temptation was so strong that I withheld 
that with which to purchase what my condition did 
require. Our sons were strong, handsome, brave ; 
but, as I said, I had little time to become acquainted 
with them. My husband had acquired a reputation 
much to be desired, and I will say, he was most 
worthy of respect and admiration. Many guests 
were entertained by us, for Reginald was hospita- 
bly inclined. This taxed me far beyond my strength 
for although my husband did amply provide and we 
had servants many, yet so anxious was I to meet all 
requirements that I thought it no more than I should 



Dreams. 103 

do, to oversee, and in many things, minister to the 
pleasures of our friends. I also passed many sleep- 
less nights ; for it was about this time our children 
were afflicted with disorders peculiar to their age ; 
and some, as I have said, are now within God's 
heavenly fold. 

" Their father I would not disturb through all 
these sleepless nights of mine, for I knew that he 
niust rest if he would attain that to which he anx- 
iously aspired. I may be selfish, but I have often 
regretted that he succeeded, for I found myself un- 
able to enjoy the society of those with whom our 
lot was cast. I had not had the time to cultivate the 
arts and graces our eminent position now rendered 
necessary, which I strove earnestly to gain at that 
late time. No one can ever know the struggle and 
the tears it cost me. How I tried to interest my 
husband in our home and simple homely pleasures 
such as he had been wont to praise in our earlier 
married life. It was in vain ; he did despise those 
simple pleasures. 

" One who had often been our guest did more 
his time employ. I will not speak of her, my heart 
has grown so bitter; he himself has told the story. 
My mirror showed to me gray hairs were coming 
thicklv and wrinkles did form themselves upon my 
pallid cheeks. 

" It was now was born our youngest daughter. 
Our sons had grown to be handsome boys like, yet 
unlike, twin brothers. One has been successful and 
does dwell near in the city. He is a courted million- 



I04 Dreams. 

aire; yet he is selfish, very. In youth it was not 
noted much ; he was clever and quick to drive a bar- 
gain, but was said to be honest to a penny, although 
it was remarked he always claimed as his the extra 
pennies. All he gained he kept and never squan- 
dered any. His brother was of that same mind re- 
garding getting of the pennies, but what was denied 
him he took by force and never saved he any. Now 
he dwells in a prison cell and has added to our 
heart aches many. Well has their father said, these 
two resemble neither parent, for we were never sel- 
fishly inclined, and to gain wealth were never 
greedy, except that short time before these sons 
were born, when we were striving to -attain that 
which my husband did desire to aid him in his 
great ambition. Honest? no one could ever say but 
we were strictly honest, unless it should be called a 
crime when I failed to account in that same time un- 
to my husband regarding all the moneys. It shamed 
me then that I did desire such strange and curious 
condiments ; not but my husband would have given 
me had I but asked, but never thought I needed 
money. In truth he thought I did not know its 
value. This also made me hesitate when I perhaps 
should have spoken. 

" So you see, friend, how very strange it is we 
have two sons, one a selfish millionaire and one in a 
felon's prison. Our daughter was a charming maid 
in all her manner ; beautiful in face and form and 
of most graceful carriage. She was also very 
clever; all advantages she improved and is in all 



Dreams. 105 

ways most brilliant and accomplished. Yes, she is 
married to her father's choice, although she loved 
another. He whom she loved has far surpassed the 
one she married. Although her husband is a worthy 
and respected man there in the city, she now dwells 
an unloved and unloving wife, though they have 
many children. Since I have told you my story, are 
you yet surprised that when he, my husband, did 
return and say that althovigh he had repented, he 
still held me the guilty cause of all his folly that I 
was vexed and cried ? I did not care since all our 
lives were wasted." 

As she spoke she turned to where the old man sat ; 
the tears ran down his furrowed cheeks, and he 
said, " We were to blame ; I the most, my Mary." 
She elapsed his hand and said, " Nay, nay, we were 
both to blame, but I the most, my husband." 

I left them there for I felt it holy ground where 
dwelt those victims of a barbarous custom. 

Soft came the voice, "What hatest thou? What 
hatest thou?" I said, "Not thee, oh friend, nor 
bird, nor beast, nor child, nor yet this man and 
woman." 

Soft came the voice, " What hatest thou? " and I 
said. " The people, the people of the city ! " Low 
was the voice and sad. It said, " These are from 
within the city." I answered, " There are others 
yet within the city." 



CHAPTER XVII. 

It might appear strange to some that any one 
feeling such a disHke as myself should ever permit 
himself to become interested in any persons from 
the city for which I had conceived so great a dis- 
taste. Yet I am sure you would not have deemed it 
so strange had you yourselves become acquainted 
with the elderly couple that I mentioned in the pre- 
ceding chapter. 

So kindly disposed did they become, so anxious 
to make amends to each other for all the sorrow they 
had caused by their misunderstandings in the past. 
Now that they knew, they could appreciate all they 
had striven to accomplish for each other. Their 
readiness to acknowledge their mistakes and to rec- 
tify them, as far as lay in their power, made them 
a pathetic study to me. 

Moreover I felt I was in a measure responsible 
for their more fortunate present condition. For had 
I not been compelled by that severe pain at my heart 
to stop and rest at their dwelling place, they would 
never have told me their story ! and in hearing it 
thcv themselves learned the true condition of their 
afifairs from each other's point of view; and so 
hearing became reconciled. Otherwise they would 
have continued in mutual recrimination. In fact 
I feel very much elated and quite plume myself on 
being a peacemaker. I have received my compensa- 
tion, for these old people make so much of me I am 



Dreams. 107 

in danger of being spoiled. Besides it is very enter- 
taining to hear them converse on those ever bright- 
ening days of the past ; instructive too, I find it, to 
hear the world in all its active life discussed and re- 
ceive other opinions than my own, for I have led 
a very lonely life and I am beginning to fear I have 
been rather severe with my foster child, Felicia. 
Not but that I love the girl, but I have ever kept her 
youth in view and considered her opinions of little 
worth. I suspect 1 had a lesson to learn also in this 
apparently accidental meeting. 

It is truly delightful to see the way in which this 
erstwhile quarrelsome couple agree. Felicia is such 
a favorite with them that they would have her with 
them alway. The girl herself loves to listen to their 
old-time stories. Yes, and I have noticed that she 
is also deeply interested when they are telling some 
of the present day, in which their grandson, Reuben, 
figures largely. Well, life is young with her and 
this is natural hero worship. I think though, I can 
see in this a coming change. When this young man 
arrives, if he be one-half the man his grandsire pic- 
tures him, my girl will love him. Coming he will 
be soon, for only this morning they told me they 
liad received word from him to that effect. 

When he comes and sees my lovely maid, then I 
know that he will love her. No man could look 
upon her pure, sweet face and fail to admire her ; 
watch her charming way and fail to love her. Then 
I know I must give place to that younger, stronger 
love that will come into my darling's life. 



io8 Dreams. 

A pang of selfish jealousy strikes my heart at the 
thought of parting with my child. Yes, my child, 
for that she has grown to be to me. How she 
brightens all my days with her winsome presence. 
Fie ! For shame ! 1 must not let a whim of mine 
bar the way to my girl's happiness. I am getting 
old and it were well for me if I could see Felicia 
happily married ; then I would visit this lovely gar- 
den that I have heard so much of. 

If it please the All-wise I shall willingly go 
hence. The sands in life's hour-glass are running 
low, and there is little left that I can do. I must be 
growing weak in some respects also, for now I find 
that I no longer feel as bitterly as I did toward the 
people of that strange city. Growing old and the 
time of my departure near at hand, I must not talk 
longer in this manner for it grieves my child when 
I so much as mention that I may go hence ere long. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

As I foresaw, the inevitable has happened. My 
FeUcia's heart is no longer in my keeping. It es- 
caped one lovely day in spite of all my guarding 
care, and has bee-n caught by a stalwart, dark-eyed 
specimen of humanity. What is worse, or should be 
worse, to me were it not that such a strange apathy 
has come upon my mind, he is one from out that city 
of my sorrow — the Mecca of my contempt ! Yet 
tiuthfully speaking, no one could feel contempt for 
this magnificent one from among the sons of men. 
I, even I, am constrained to believe that there may 
be good and true persons dwelling within the city's 
walls. I believe, nay, I must be honest ; I know 
there are good and true persons within the city 
since this man came thence. 

It happened in this wise : Felicia who is never so 
happy as when preparing some tempting dainty for 
our aged friends, had been busying herself all the 
morning concocting some particularly delicate mor- 
sel to tempt the appetite. They had not appeared 
as well as usual of late ; not that they were ill, but 
were visibly growing more feeble, reminding one 
oj" the fading leaves upon the trees in autunui weath- 
er — just so softly, sweetly fading from our sight. 
And as these same leaves take on new beauties as 
they gently fade away, so day by day were revealed 
to us new beauties in our friends. How tender 
and kind the one to the other. How he supported 



112 Dreams. 

her fragile form when they took their Httle walks. 
How staunch and brave he tried to appear, although 
li was evident he did most sorely need the assistance 
of his stout stafif. How she tried to tell him every 
little thing she thought would interest him ; of the 
blossoming apple tree, where the birds had built 
their nest, the ones they remembered so well. It 
must be the same birds for they had returned now 
for several seasons and brought their family with 
them it would seem. 

In this manner they tried to win each other from 
the thoughts of the increasing infirmities of old age. 
Of late, even these little excursions had been too 
much for them to undertake, and they patiently and 
cheerfully resigned themselves to the circumstances. 
" Oh," they would say, " Oh, yes, we would like to 
go but the easy chair in the sunshine is so very cozy ; 
we can see a bit of the lake from here and the cattle 
feeding in the green meadows. Did you notice how 
red the roses are around the porch and how sweet 
their fragrance? It is very pleasant here we think." 
In this way they would strive to beguile the mo- 
ments. 

Well, as I said, Felicia had been busy preparing 
for them an unexpected dainty. Going into their 
home with a delicate rose flushing her cheeks, with 
blue eyes sparkling, and little rings of sunny brown 
hair clustering around her fair brow, her cherry lips 
parted just showing the bits of white teeth as the 
dimples played hide and seek around the corners of 
her mouth in a smile of anticipated pleasure at the 



Dreams. 1 1 3 

thought of the surprise in store for her good friends. 
Surprise! The surprise was rather for herself; 
for on entering the cottage, who should she find but 
the much-loved, long-expected grandson. I am in- 
clined to think it was rather a surprise to that same 
gentleman. It does not very frequently befall one 
to meet so tempting a bit of womanhood as my 
sweet Felicia. Any way the mischief was done 
when the brown and blue eyes met. The love mak- 
ing was happy and prosperous. It was truly inter- 
esting to watch the aged grandparents' pleasure in 
its prospering. Now the children have been to me 
and asked my blessing on their wooing, also urging 
my consent to a speedy union. Shall I give it? 
Yes, I must. I have urged every obstacle that was 
possible to my mind, and really there is no obsta- 
cle. The young man's character is beyond reproach ; 
genial, and generous. There can be no objection to 
the union excepting my unconquerable dislike, to 
speak so meek a word, for the people of the city 
whence he came and of which he is a citizen. 

I will no longer hesitate. I will consent to their 
happiness. Reuben says he must away to the city 
on urgent business ; and while there is anxious to 
prepare a home for the coming of his bride — his 
dear little wife, to be. 

They come before me now: shall I refuse? Nay, 
I have given my blessing, or did I receive one? Now^ 
I hear happy voices as they discuss their hopes and 
plans on this last evening, for on the morrow Reu- 
ben will return to the citv. 



114 Dreams. 

I am drowsy and my eyelids heavy, I will sleep a 
little, while they build their future castle. 

How now ! I hear the voice, it says : " What 
hatest thou? What hatest thou?" 

Again as of old I reply, not thee, dear friend, not 
thee; nor bird, nor beast, nor child, nor aged cou- 
ple, nor yet this young man who now doth tarry 
here. I hate the people of the" 

Then said the voice: "What hatest thou? all 
these are from within the city. Soon, if I mistake 
not, thou thyself wilt sojourn within the city. 
What hatest thou? " I cannot answer for it is so; 
if my Felicia abides within the city, there too must 
I abide. I may not separate myself from her. So 
I say: " Dear friend, do not mock my sore distress. 
I cannot answer thee." Soft came the voice, " I 
will not mock, but it doth seem that thou dost love 
all who come from within the city." 

" What hatest thou? " I try to say, the people, the 
people of the city; but I have grown so weak of 
mind that I fear I do not hate with the same lusty 
vigor of my youth the people of the city. 

To-morrow I will make preparation to proceed on 
my journey to that most beautiful garden. I will 
leave Felicia in the care of our aged friends who 
will be lonely after their grandson has departed. 
She will be happy in hearing continually the praises 
of her choice. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

It is all arranged. To-morrow I commence my 
journey to that famous garden. It is not so far 
away, I learn, as I anticipated. The guide assures 
me that if I meet with no misliap I will probably 
reach my destination the following night. 

This guide is a person of most somber appear- 
ance to many ; in fact he impressed me at first as 
having a most forbidding look, yet on closer ac- 
quaintance I find he is exceedingly agreeable, and 
possesses an immense iund of information which he 
is perfectly willing to impart to any one capable of 
appreciating its extraordinary interest. 

There is nothing to be dreaded about the journey 
he assures me. Even the crossing of an apparently 
very dark, swift stream, about which so many dis- 
mal stories have been told ; even crossing of this 
river, he tells me, is particularly pleasant, if people 
will not permit themselves to be disturbed by the 
stories they have heard. 

The scenery is both interesting and beautiful ; al- 
so in some parts so sublime as to inspire with awe 
the beholder. N^evertheless the stream leads grad- 
ually and tranquilly to a beautiful and peaceful coun- 
try, wherein, like a precious jewel, in golden setting, 
lies this lovely garden. 

I will not be able to tell you more until I have 
visited this famous spot ; when if it be possible, I 
will send you word by letter or a messenger. And 



ii6 Dreams. 

when I have regained my strength sufficiently you 
shall learn of its beauties by word of mouth. 

I fear that 1 have promised more than I will 
ever be able to fulfil. I found all the guide had 
told me concerning the journey was true, and it was 
very enjoyable. True, I was terrified when we 
reached the narrow channel between the high moun- 
tains where the huge boulders and threatening rocks 
almost met above our defenceless heads. For a lit- 
tle, I anticipated being crushed by them or dashed 
to pieces in their jagged jaws by the raging torrent 
1 heard near by, and expected to enter very soon. I 
could hear it roaring, hissing, swelling, louder and 
loud'er every moment. Terrible it must be ! Is there 
no escape? My breath comes slowly. Yes, almost 
ceases. My eyes are dim. I can hear nothing but 
that terrible, terrible roaring. The wind is cold. 
I shiver. I chill. My heart beats heavily ; stops. 
Am I then deceived? Has the guide played me 
false and lured me to destruction? Why did I not 
listen to others wiser than myself? I look at him. 
He is smiling benignly, and says, kindly : '' Fear 
no evil, I am with thee." 

How his appearance has changed. A radiant 
face ! A form divine ! Why, we have passed the 
rocks; how beautiful they are! Every jagged pinna- 
cle, as the light of the setting sun falls upon it, 
reflects a glow like rosy flame in answer to his glori- 
ous glow. Am I dreaming? I must be, when I 
think the dark-browed guide so gracious, and all 
those ragged rocks such pinnacles of flame. 



Dreams. 117 

A little while my eyes were dim with age, and 
then with fear i rub them. They are not dim, they 
are clear. A ever in all my life have I seen so well; 
nay, I have been blind always — and that terrible 
torrent ; 1 laugh aloud, it is but a babbling brook, 
smging as it falls over many beauteous boulders, 
some white, others curiously shaded, cast tints of 
many lovely colors where the waters throw, as if in 
mirthful play, their foamy spray among them. 

Here where the boats enter, it is perfectly tranquil 
and oh, so clear ! and the boulders form stepping- 
stones to the shore. 

Soft and sw^eet the air ; I drink it in ; every fiber 
of my being tingles. I bathe in it; yes, I live in it. 
How spicy sweet ; frankincense and myrrh, red 
roses and violets ; a thousand odors all combined. 
How strong it makes me feel. How young; and 
best of all, how well. H the breath from out that 
garden be so sweet, what must the garden be? Yet 
I am in no haste to go ; a languorous pleasure is 
upon me ; I fain would linger here at the entrance, 
but I cannot. A voice says: " Come;" I must obey. 
The guide places my hand in another's and is gone. 
I heard him say, " I must hasten to those who 
await." The new guide smiles on me encouragingly, 
says gently, " Come within the gates, it is eventide 
and thou must rest." 

Unquestioningly as a little child I go. There is 
something in his presence that insoires confidence 
and refuses to be questioned. Oh, what sweet music 



ii8 Dreams. 

I hear, and singing. The guide places nie under a 
flowering tree and hids me rest. 

How long 1 was there I cannot say, but I slept 
until I was awakened by the singing of a bird. Such 
a bird ; ah, what a song ! Mounting higher, higher, 
clearer, clearer, until all around was music's notes 
like sparkling diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and 
pearls. Presently I perceive it is night, though dif- 
fering from all the nights I ever knew. There is a 
softened light on everything; so tranquil, so rest- 
ful. As the song of the lark dies away — it must 
be a lark — however, as the song dies away, I be- 
come aware that the waters in the porphyry and 
gold fountain, are musical and opalescent. Oh, the 
sweetness of the music, faintly audible, like some 
sweet song, sung far away. And oh, the beauties of 
that water; all the hues of the diamond subdued to 
the tenderness of the opal ! Now I become aware 
that I am not alone, I hear voices. I will be cpiiet, 
perhaps I may learn something concerning this 
strange country to whch I have come. 

The voices are nearer. What ! is it possible ? It 
is the tall, white lily near my resting place that is 
speaking. Curious things are constantly happen- 
ing, such as render me doubtful of mine own self. 
What does the lily say? Is it possible to speak 
disparagingly of another in this place of quiet re- 
pose? And that too of the radiant rose? Says the 
lily : "' That rose is too red ; it flaunts its gaudy 
color in my face and makes itself vulgarly conspic- 
uous. While of its cousins — the A^ellow has gained 



Dreams. 119 

its tawny hue from envy ; and the white, from shame 
that it dared rival me." 

The rose was angry and said, " Not so ! It is thou 
that hath grown pale with shame that thou shouldst 
aspire to be queen of all the flowers." 

At this there was an uproar. A beautiful vine 
full of long clusters of purple flowers, complained 
bitterly of the oak tree to which it Avas clinging, 
saying that it was ruining iti graceful form by lift- 
ing it so high in the air. The oak was incensed and 
said he had not called her hither ; and she hampered 
the growth of his sturdy limbs by ever clinging to 
them. The larger flowers, one and all, despised the 
more timid ones, the lilies of the valley, violets, and 
daisies — such common things. As for the shrubs, 
noted for their graceful foliage they said: "Foli- 
age ! Foliage ! What was that ? A few green leaves, 
at best tinted ones. They ought to be exterminated 
for being so presumptuous." And the magnolia 
tree — what ungainly blossoms it possessed ; peer- 
less and proud was it, of what they would like to 
know? All the flowers that grew in the garden 
loathed the lovely aquatics. Were they not horrid 
things, belonging neither to earth, air, nor water. 
These said of those that grew upon the land, that 
they were filthy plants and never had a bath except 
occasionally from dew or rain. 

More especially I noticed one plant that grew by 
itself. It was not particularly beautiful nor yet 
homely, but to me. of most disagreeable manner ; for 
it folded its leaves around it very haughtily. I 



i-o Dreams. 

thought it appeared to be trying to escape. It said 
that It hated them all and deemed there was no evil 
in itself, no good in any other. It was hindered 
when it desired to escape and I heard a voice which 
said to it : 

"What hatest thou?" and it answered: "The 
flowers, the flowers within the garden, and I do 
well to hate." 

I was Idled with wrath and cried : " Misguided 
one, dost thou not see they are all thy kindred ? " 
For now I did perceive that although they dift'ered 
one from the other, the same gardener and master 
cared for them all. I was grieved for his loving 
care ; that it should be so repaid ; besides I was 
troubled regarding the flowers themselves, for I saw 
ihey were all lovely, differing only in kind ; but since 
they had commenced to upbraid one another their 
leaves were withered ; their blossoms hung droop- 
ing, and soon all would be ruined if some remedy 
were not speedily applied. 

As for the one that was trying to escape, there 
was a black blight eating at its very heart ; and 
when again the voice said, "What hatest thou?" 
and blinded by arrogance it answered : " The flow- 
ers, the flowers within the garden." 

I cried : " Unseemly one," and would have crushed 
its verv life, but was withheld, and a voice said, 
" Wait." I waited, I fear, wit^i impatience. I saw 
presentlv there grew beside that plant other weaker 
than itself; unwillingly enouq-h, at first, it sheltered 
it. The canker spot upon itself grew smaller. Then 



Dreams. 121 

another of the weaker ones came, and it helped that 
also. Presently there were many ; and it loved them 
all, yet for very pride imagined it hated. The can- 
ker, although very small, remained ; and still the 
voice asked: "What hatest thou?" The plant 
though doubtful said : " The flowers within the gar- 
den." Yet it was growdng stronger; and presently 
vvhen asked: " What hatest thou? " said, " Nay, I 
hate not but I love the flowers within the garden. 
Are they not oif mine own father's house? " I heard 
a chime as of bells. All the flowers were laughing to- 
gether. The lily said to the rose : " Come thou more 
near and cast thy glowing splendor on my pallor." 
To the yellow rose, " Where didst thou gain thy 
golden tint? Didst catch a sunbeam straying to 
weave thy garment from?" The red rose kissed 
the lily for love, vVhereat it flushed to tender pink. 
The yellow rose said : " Nay, nay, the lily for fair- 
ness, so I needs must choose another color." The 
oak said to the vine, " Come thou up higher! " How 
ungainly should I appear without thy charming blos- 
soms ? " 

" Not so." the vine replied. " What would I do 
were it not for thy sturdy arms that lift me from 
the earth, where all my blossoms might be crushed 
by the careless passer-by. It is thou that art brave 
and strong," and it whispered, " I love thee." 

All the land plants praised those that grew in the 
streams and floated upon the water. How nure and 
sweet they were. They, of the others said, that they 
were patient and persevering, waiting and thankful 



122 Dreams. 

for rain and dew. As for the violet — all true lovers 
knew its worth. Mignonette, if not so beautiful, of 
what modest worth. Pansies were for heart's ease 
and pleasant thoughts. Who could forget the blue 
forget-me-not? the daisies with their many tiny 
petals, and the one that blushed when God's finger 
touched its humble blossoms. All the flowers were 
happy ; conspicuously so, the glorious magnolia ; 
regarding the leaves, no flower could consider itself 
as advantageously displayed without its verdant set- 
ting. 

I was happy too ; more especially, because that 
most miserable one that had expected to escape, had 
returned and loved and was beloved by all within 
the garden. 

Then came the voice I knew of old, and said to 
me, "What hatest thou?" I said, "Trouble me 
not ; the people in the city." At that I thought the 
flowers laughed louder than ever ; and I fell asleep 
and dreamed of the city and the people therein. One 
went with me and showed me all their hopes and 
fears, their sorrows and their joys, temptations and 
resistances, weakness and strength, cradles and 
graves. All, all ! I pitied them ! 

The voice said, " Look ! " and lo ! they were my 
father and my mother, my brother, sister, husband, 
and child ; my neighbors and friends. I loved, I 
loved them. Then the voice said, " What hatest 
thou?" I said not thee dear friend, not thee; nor 
1)ird, nor beast, nor living thing ; and least of all, 
the people. I love, I love tlie people of the city. 



Dreams. 123 

Let me go hence quickly that I may help them. I 
long to be there." 

The bird is singing again ; I am awake ! it is 
morning and such a morning ; so clear and pure. 
What a white light, so brilliant, yet soft it does not 
pain nor hurt with all its brilliancy but rather 
strengthens my sight and adds new beauties to all 
the surroundings. 

The flowers — how meek they look, who would 
suspect that stately lily and radiant rose of playing 
such pranks as they did last night ! Now I see a 
person walking in the garden. It must be the mas- 
ter ; I will apologize for my intrusion. It was late 
when I arrived or I would have sought his permis- 
sion to enter. He is here! How majestic! How 
gracious ! He speaks : " Child, whence earnest 
thou ? " I am abashed ; and yet how kindly he looks 
at me. Why do I hesitate? I will no longer. I 
tell him how it was I had desired so long to enter 
this lovely place, and of all my hindrances. I tell 
him of the sad disappointment of my youth, and 
how I left the city, hating and scorning everything 
therein, even from the least to the greatest ; of my 
ambition to return and wreak bitter vengeance on 
one and all ; whereat I thought he did indeed look 
at me very gravely and I felt reproached and would 
have excused myself. Yea, rather than meet the 
sorrow of that look I wished myself back in the 
terror of the rocks with jagged jaws — yea, even 
back to that bitter time when I bid farewell to the 
city. 



124 Dreams. 

I said, " I see I have intruded ; let me go whence 
I came." The master said : " Xot yet, my child, not 
yet. Thou hast told me what thou didst hate ; what 
lovest thou ? " Then I told him of the poor forsaken 
beasts I met with outside the city walls ; how cruelty 
changed to pity, of the bird which the archer shot — 
the trees, the flowers — I loved them all. Also the 
child I found deserted ; my hate and scorn had 
changed to tenderost love, she was even as my own. 

I spoke of the aged couple who now dwelt in 
harmony and peace. Last but not least, of the young 
man who came from within tlie city. I loved them, 
every one ; and preferred their happiness to my own. 
Then I told him how long I had desired to visit the 
garden ; of my fear of the guide, my terror of the 
rocks in the narrow pass before entering the gar- 
den ; how very beautiful I found those same rocks 
when once they were passed. Then I spoke of my 
rest in the garden, and the dream regarding the 
flowers, that it distressed me that they should treat 
each other in that manner ; and how especially in- 
dignant I felt at the one whidh esteemed itself as 
being so very superior to the otliers, and withdrew 
from among them. Whereat I thought the master 
smiled. Then I hesitate-d, but he said : " Soeak on." 
So I told him of the hindrances that befell the sel- 
fish one, and how glad I was when it was brought 
back to the others and the great reconciliation took 
place. 

I said, " Sir, I do not know why I speak so con- 
fidingly to you, but I must tell you of a strange 



Dreams. 125 

voice that has ever pursued me with the question, 
" What hatest thou ? ' Ever until last night I have 
been able to say. The people ; the people of the city 
I had left, but after the dream of the flowers, I had 
a vision of the city and the people. In some way 
I was able to enter into their individual lives, and 
I now pitied and loved them ; more particularly one 
whom at first I had disliked because of her self- 
righteous condition. I am sorry now for I had 
learned that she dwelt alone with naught but deso- 
lation and despair for her companions. I wanted to 
bring her back also to her friends." 

Hearing this the master smiled again ; and I per- 
ceived that smile had a power over my spirit. It il- 
luminated the dark places therein, and I knew that 
I. even I. was the wayward flower — the selfish and 
self-righteous person. 

Abashed I cried, " Let me return. I pray thee let 
me return to the city, the city that I left ! " Soft 
came the voice I knew so well : " What hatest thou? 
What hatest thou?" Then I cried more strongly 
yet, '' I hate not, I love all ! And more than all other, 
the people of that city that I left. I pray you let 
me return to those i. love." Gently the master said : 

" Thou shalt return Thou hast a wise and pa- 
tient teacher. It was well he brought thee hither, I 
have somewhat to show thee before thou goest back 
to whence thou camest." Then he led me to one of 
the statues, w'hich I had observed at some distance 
among the trees. To one apart from the others he 
led me and bade me look. I was astonished ; for 



126 Dreams. 

though perfect in all its parts, one side of that statue 
was dark and discolored, although I saw there was 
a misty whiteness that appeared to be gradually en- 
croaching upon the blackness. The other side was 
white and pure, and it was lovely beyond descrip- 
tion. There was a drapery as of stars that enhanced 
its loveliness. 

The master said, " Behold thy life. The stars are 
the good works thou hast done ;" and I said, Mas- 
ter, " When did I a good work? I am that selfish 
one." And he answered me : " Even when thou 
didst think to hate the helpless, thou hast soothed. 
Also the life thou didst save and teach — thy foster 
child — Felicia. The peace that thou hast made be- 
tv.een the aged man and woman, thy tender care 
for their comfort in their feebleness. Thou hast 
done well ; rejoice with exceeding great joy that 
thou wast not permitted to leave all in darkness. Re- 
turn to the city and the people that thou lovest ; 
and from what thou hast gained benefit thy kindred ; 
remembering always that all are thy kindred, even 
as God is the Father of all. Rejoice continually that 
thou art permitted to be one of the handmaidens in 
humanity's temple. Thou art favored among many. 
What lovest thou ? " 



CHAPTER XX. 



Did I hear a bird singing just now? How is this? 
Why am I here all alone? The sun is arising in 



Dreams. 127 

majesty and power over all the vast waste of waters. 
See the banners of light he unfurls ! Tender flush- 
ings of rose, amber, and palest green, melt upon the 
blue and gray of the sky. These are followed by 
crimson, purple, and gold; and all are reflected on 
the face of the waters in myriads of dancing ripples, 
touched here and there with flecks of foam. The 
sun is climbing higher and higher, the day is with 
us. 

A few bathers are commencing to arrive, even at 
this early hour, while I yet sit here bewildered. Ah, 
I remember now. There was an entertainment giv- 
en last evening in honor of a very prominent person 
lately arrived. 

I, as a guest, had expected a delightful evening. 
A word I chanced to overhear disturbed my serenity 
and caused me to distrust a most cherished friend. 
My pleasant anticipations were gone ; so too, was 
gone all my faith in human vows and protestations. 
With disgust and loathing I turned from all who 
claimed my friendship. If this one were false then 
none were true except myself. It was strange there 
could not be found among all my acquaintances one 
that could be trusted. Strange I should be the only 
faithful one among so many. I congratulated my- 
self on my superiority and determined to withdraw 
as much as possible from the society of mv fonner 
friends. They might consider themselves abused, 
but what was that to me? If they had so little sin- 
cerity in their friendship, what matter if they were 
aggrieved. Thus musing, I left the place of enter- 



128 Dreams. 

taiiiment, and aimlessly strolling, came down by the 
sea, idly yet bitterly communing with myself. See- 
ing a light in one of the tents belonging to the famed 
and most peculiar magicians, who had for a time 
chosen this retreat for a resting place, I impulsively 
concluded to visit and consult with them, and learn 
if there was within their pharmacy, simples such as 
would cure my malady — if they possessed such a 
luscious draught as would tend to soothe the throb- 
bings of a heart betrayed. 

I must confess it was not without misgivings, 
halting, and turning back, that I sought entrance. 
The}' were no ordinary persons with whom I desired 
audience ; moreover there had been such wonderful 
tales told regarding them, that one would needs be 
more than mortal not to stand in some awe of the 
interview. However I was never of a very timid 
nature, and now for very shame of mine own weak- 
ness, would enter. Once within I was seized with 
such confusion that I would have fled precipitately, 
even after the cordial w-elcome extended by the ever- 
kind and hospitable Jacol). I would have fled even 
then, but the luminous eyes of Abdicates were upon 
me. If there had been any mystery in a pre-existent 
condition, those eyes could have seen it. If there 
were any prophetic revelation concerning a future 
existence, providing there be either a past or fu- 
ture, I felt no manner of doubt but that he could 
reveal either one or both if such should be his pleas- 
ure. What could he do for me wdio desired counsel 
for the present? 



Dreams. 129 

By his side was seated the one called Josephus, a 
person of most; learned and venerable appearance. 
I remarked the absence of the white-robed one — 
sweet Mary; also the addition of a new member to 
the company ; a man of most magnificent presence 
and kingly bearing. As I entered, I heard him 
say, " I, Egypt's son, will plnck from out the mum- 
mied hand of an ancient rite, the Lotus seed of Im- 
mortality. I, Pharaoh, am with you, fear not." 

Even yet I would have withdrawn, for I perceived 
preparations as for a journey ; but they entreated me 
most kindly and Abdicates said inquiringly, " We 
were admiring a most wonderful flower brought by 
our friend Pharaoh. Wouldst thou like to examine 
it, thou wilt find it worthy of observance. It is 
called the Lotus of the Nile." 

So saying he gave to me an odorous and won- 
drous flower; then with his eyes upon my face, said, 
" Daughter, camest thou to consult with Abdicates, 
son of Arabia? Hast thou not teachers enough of 
thine own kindred? Or can it be thou lovest not 
thine own household of the peoples?" 

His voice was very grave and a sadness dimmed 
the luster of his eyes. Whether I answered him or 
not I canno't say ; for looking on that wonderful 
flower and inhaling its fragrance I forgot every- 
thing — everybody. 

T have lived a life time; vea, grown old in a few 
short hours, row T find it but a dream. Not a 
vestip-e of tents or coun=p1ors rptnpin: pnd T h-^^'e 
watched the sunrise o'er the fathomless denths of the 



130 Dreams. 

sea. A dream, yet I think there was something of a 
lesson in that dream, if dream it be ! Anyway I will 
agree with mine adversary quickly. Nay, I will 
seek my friend. There comes to me an echo from 
that dream, "What lovest thou?" Farewell. We 
shall meet again ; until then — Silence. 



Mar- 91 1901 



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